Legacy
by Mulrey
Summary: Third in the New Beginnings series. Giles' relationship with his daughter is put under strain by a family legacy.


Title: _Legacy_

Author: Mulrey

Set: Post-Buffy. This is the third in a series, the other two being _New Beginnings_ and _The Three Fates_.

Rating: M (I think!)

Pairing: G/OC ( And Angel/OC… kind of… believe it or not!)

Disclaimer: I don't own Giles, Buffy, Willow or Angel… but the rest of them are mine.

Thanks: To Maxie and Sandra for commenting and nagging from time to time.

Dedication: Happy Belated Birthday HeadRush!

Giles ran into the ER reception and carried on running through the department, weaving in and out of cubicles and side wards. He couldn't breathe, but he equally couldn't stop running until he had found her. Soon, two security guards were pursuing him, calling for him to stop but he didn't. Barging into the resuscitation suite, he came to a dead halt. Skye was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, her back flat against the wall, a hand clasping the metal end of a wooden-handled reflex tester.

"Hey! You can't come in here…" one of the guards shouted, attempting to grab Giles' shoulder, but he slipped away from him, falling to his knees in front of Skye.

She was deathly pale, staring into space as if she didn't see him at all and clutching the implement so hard that her white bloodless hand was shaking.

"Skye…" Giles gently stroked her hair. He put his hand over hers. "You can let go now… it's okay… he's gone." His heart was pounding in his chest.

She blinked and finally saw him. "Dad?"

"It's all right, I'm here," he said, pulling her close, relief sweeping through him.

He was allowed to take her home only after her colleagues had finished fussing over her and a fake description of the anonymous attacker had been given to the police. Giles had called Frankie from the hospital, giving her a brief account of what had happened, so when they returned home, she immediately took over from where the hospital staff had left off.

"I'm ok, there's really no need for you to fuss," Skye protested, as she was guided to the sofa.

"I'd say there was every need," Giles replied.

"Now, do you need a drink? Or are you not meant to have anything? Rupert?" Frankie looked at Giles; he could tell she was shaking.

"I'd say a dram of scotch would do the trick."

"You're not meant to give alcohol to people when they are in shock," Skye muttered.

Giles sat down next to her. "So you do admit that you're in shock?"

"I'm not going to deny the shock value of being attacked by a vampire… I'm just saying…"

Giles raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Oh you win… fuss away."

Giles smiled and pulled her to him causing her to wince.

"Sorry, did I…?" Giles frowned and stared at the top of Skye's head. "Why is there blood in your hair?" He brushed a section of hair aside to get a better look. "You didn't mention being struck on the head."

Skye batted his hand away and smoothed her hair down. "It's nothing."

"You didn't tell them so they wouldn't keep you in. Unbelievable!" he snorted. "Physician heal thyself? Not bloody likely. Darling, could you get the first aid kit?" Frankie nodded and went in search.

Skye rolled her eyes.

"Look at me," Giles said, taking her face in his hands. "Pupils seem even enough. Did you lose consciousness at all?"

"No. And d'you mind? I'm the doctor here."

"And I'm your father so you'll do as you're bloody well told."

Skye smiled; she liked it when he pulled his whole 'leader of the pack' thing. "Yes dad."

Frankie returned with the first aid kit and Giles set about the task of cleaning the wound, raising various moans and groans as well as the odd accusation of incompetence. Giles worked as fast as he could to clear away the blood that was caked around the gash. To his surprise, it didn't reopen even though it was certainly large enough to warrant stitches. Cleaning the wound served the purpose of distracting him from thinking about what had happened; how close he had come to losing his daughter after knowing her for less than two years. He had told himself that he could protect her, that he could keep all the demons of this world away from her; that by concentrating on family and not the forces of darkness, they would become equally forgetful of him, or at least of her. Skye shuffled and lay down, resting her head on his knees. He rubbed her arm comfortingly. Although he had been party to the rescue of many civilians, he had forgotten that it was they, and not those who fight the shadows, who were more likely to carry the brunt of the eternal battle. And as for Skye, she had just found out that Schrodinger was wrong; there is a state that lies between dead and alive, she had just observed it. Against all that her scientific training told her, the undead kitty had forced its way out of the box and attacked.

Giles looked over at Frankie who was packing away the first aid kit. He wondered what she was thinking, whether she blamed him. The one and only full blown row they had ridden out since he had moved in had been about his trip to Cleveland, the month before. A new 'big bad' had surfaced and he had relented on his decision to let Buffy handle any problems that the hellmouth belched up. When he left for the airport, Frankie had looked at him with the same expression that he remembered his mother looking at his father when he would go away on 'business'. Giles could still recall the arguments that, as a child, he had heard from his room, and the sobs that would emanate from behind his mother's bedroom door after his father had left. The stress had killed her in the end. The doctors had used all kinds of medical jargon to explain away the condition that had led to her sudden deterioration, but he knew, and his father had known, why her body had given out without warning. Years of heart-stopping phone calls in the middle of the night, never knowing whether she had seen the man she loved for the last time, and then, her son. It had happened the month after he had started working for the Council. Everything had been reversed; it was him and his father who had received the phone call, it was they who had rushed to the hospital, and it was they who had watched helplessly as she slipped away. The day he had left for Cleveland, he had seen in Frankie's eyes, a month being torn from the calendar of her life, and had vowed at that moment, it would be the last time he would ever leave her.

Skye stirred. "I think I'll go take a shower," she said, sitting up.

"I think you should keep that head wound dry for a while," Giles frowned, " I'm also not so sure it's a good idea until we know for certain that you're not concussed."

"Okay, well I'm gonna lie down upstairs." Skye shakily got to her feet, causing the frown lines between Giles' eyes to deepen. He got up and took hold of her arm.

"I'll just make sure you get there, shall I."

"Dad…" Skye sighed. "Fine!"

Giles helped her up the stairs, unconvinced that she should be left alone for any length of time. When they got to the first floor Giles stopped.

"Rather than tackle another flight of stairs, why don't you lie down in the spare room?"

Skye agreed without too much protest. He pulled back the covers on the bed and helped her off with her shoes. After arranging the comforter over her he sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her.

"It was lucky that there was a wooden implement lying around, can't imagine there'd be many makeshift stakes in a hospital."

Skye made an assenting noise before turning onto her side, facing away from him. He watched her thoughtfully. She had acted with amazing presence of mind in extreme circumstances, not to mention agility, fighting off a newly sired vampire that must have been desperate to make its first kill.

"Did Bill teach you how to defend yourself against a vampire?" he asked.

"A little," she muttered.

"I know you're probably tired after the adrenalin rush, but in my experience it's generally helpful to talk about what happened sooner rather than later." And he was becoming more interested in what had actually happened.

"I just wanna sleep, Dad. Can we do this later?"

"Of course," Giles got up and headed for the door. "Shout if you need anything."

There was no reply and so Giles left, taking care to leave the door ajar.

Martin had been at a convention upstate and had driven back at break-neck speed the second after he had got the phone call from Frankie, incurring a speeding ticket, much to his annoyance. Martin had no problem in accepting the existence of fleshed-out demons; for him it explained a lot. The day Giles had sat him down to explain, he had begun to appreciate the wisdom of his grandmother, whose superstition for nailing crosses to doors, was the source of much hilarity in his Massachusetts home town.

He rushed in through the front door to be met in the hall by Giles.

"Where is she? Is she okay?" he asked, in a panicked tone.

"She's upstairs in the spare room…"

Before Giles had a chance to say any more, Martin had grabbed his 'kit bag' and was running up the stairs. Giles automatically followed.

Martin slowly opened the door and stepped in.

"Hey, it's me."

Giles stopped in the doorway. "She has a head wound that she didn't tell the ER staff about."

Skye pushed herself up to a sitting position as Martin leaned down and kissed her.

"Dad!"

"How are you feeling?" Martin asked, ignoring Skye's remonstration.

"I'm fine, really… just a bit sore."

Martin busied himself with examining the head wound, checking her responses and vital signs. At one point he accidentally leaned a hand on Skye's ribs, drawing a sharp cry from her. He frowned. "Any other injuries you didn't tell anyone about?" As he pulled up her top to examine the damage, he paused and looked back at her face. "Where did these bruises come from?"

She almost smiled. "I guess he might've got me there too."

Martin glanced at Giles before looking back at Skye.

"Problem?" Giles asked, moving closer.

"You didn't get these bruises today, you couldn't have."

"I did…" Skye began.

"… no, these bruises are at least a week old. What's going on Skye? Who did this to you?"

Skye looked confused at first, and then she began to get angry.

"No one… he did it… it was the vampire!"

"Not possible. _You_ look at them and tell me what you see." Martin's voice carried a mixture of concern and impatience.

Skye struggled out of the bed past Martin.

"Where are you going?"

"Away from you and your stupid questions," she blazed, stalking past Giles.

Something wasn't adding up. Giles caught her by the arm to stop her but she slipped out of his grip. Without warning, a blow struck the side of his face sending him tumbling to the floor. He looked up dazed. Skye, who was equally stunned, was staring back at him.

"Dad? Are you…? God, I'm sorry."

Martin hurried to help Giles to his feet.

"It's okay… it was my fault, I shouldn't have grabbed you," he grunted, blinking away the wetness in his right eye. The side of his face was throbbing, a sure sign that his first shiner of the year was already starting to puff out. She'd struck him hard with a blow that would disarm an opponent with minimum effort on her part. Her technique was perfect—a little too perfect. He looked up at her and wondered if he was beginning to understand.

After Skye had been ensconced with Frankie in the den to watch a romantic comedy that both of them had seen several times before—comfort viewing, they had said—Giles had gone up to his study. The room had once been Frankie's bedroom, but when Giles moved in she had insisted on making a 'new start' and so the next week bookcases had been installed, as had Giles' books. He was sitting at the desk reading watchers' journals, a task that he had done so often in the past, but never with his current objective. He was skim reading the diaries of those watchers' that he could remember having had children. He was checking to see if there was any evidence to back up something that was whispered about the female watchers, or the 'wenches' as they were called during training; something that at the time, he had dismissed as anti-women propaganda, put about by the old guard. There was a knock as Martin's head appeared around the door.

"Am I disturbing you?"

"No, it's quite all right," Giles replied, spinning his chair around to look at him.

"I think we should talk… about Skye."

"In that case you'd better come in and shut the door."

Martin nodded. He closed the door behind him and flopped into the easy chair.

"What's on your mind?" Giles asked, closing the diary and replacing it on the desk.

Martin looked at him and smiled before staring down at the rug. "This feels like telling tales out of school, but I'm worried about her and I don't know what to do to help anymore."

Giles leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "What's been going on, Martin?"

He sighed, looking more and more uncomfortable. Nervously, he tapped his fingers on his knee for a few seconds before looking up at Giles. "I thought it was just stress, y'know the job can be tough, but now I'm not so sure. It's getting serious, I think she's gonna have to repeat her rotation, and I just found out yesterday that she didn't show for an exam last month."

"I see. I knew she was finding the practical side of emergency medicine… difficult, but I had no idea her studies were slipping as well."

Martin stood up and looked along the bookcase. "It's been going on for longer than that."

"What? I thought she was always conscientious about her work."

"I don't mean her work… that's a more recent thing."

Giles frowned. "Then what do you mean?"

"She started having nightmares, not long before you showed up. They actually seemed to calm down for a while, but a couple of months back they started up again... seemed to be every night, at least every night I was with her. And then she uh…"

"What?"

"I think she was avoiding me, well, avoiding spending the night together. A friend told me that she had changed her shift patterns and when I checked, she'd requested the opposite shift to me. I have to tell you… I thought she was trying to end it, but she swore she wasn't."

"So you _did _tackle her about it?"

"Yeah… she said that she was worried about waking me." He sighed. "The other thing is… I think she might be self-medicating."

Giles rubbed the back of his neck, his glance shooting back to Martin. "Isn't that illegal?"

"Yeah, depending on what it is, she could get into a _lot_ of trouble. Giles I'd never have believed it, but I'm pretty sure I saw her taking something, but she stuffed them back into her bag as soon as she saw me. I checked her file but she's not been prescribed anything."

"Right."

"Every time I try to talk to her about this, we end up fighting."

Giles got up. "Well there is one thing that we _can_ check on. I'll be right back."

He moved quickly, but quietly down the stairs and grabbed Skye's bag from where he had dumped it in the hall when they had arrived back from the hospital. He took a deep breath before unzipping it and searching through the contents. The interior of women's handbags never failed to amaze him; he could carry around some rubbish in his pockets, but women seemed to prepare for the event of a nuclear holocaust rather than the sudden need for a pen. In between a notebook and a PDA, was a small black makeup pouch. Giles braced himself, well aware of the horrors that sometimes lay in wait, but delving inside, his fingers found a blister-strip of small tablets bearing an unfamiliar name printed on the silver foil. Giles closed the bag and took the pills up to where Martin was waiting in the study. He handed over the strip and waited for a reaction. Martin examined the packet and shook his head, swearing loudly.

"What are they?" Giles asked, trying to keep an even tone.

"Olanzapine… they're an antipsychotic. What the hell is she taking those for?"

Giles sighed and collapsed back into the desk chair. "Trying to stop the nightmares?"

"If anyone found out…"

"…I'll talk to her. I think I know what's going on."

By arrangement, Martin had retired for the night, and after a little persuasion and the promise of a full explanation later, so had Frankie. When Giles walked into the kitchen, Skye was in the middle of making herself a cup of cocoa; he calmly placed the packet of tablets next to her mug. Her eyes flashed up at him before she grabbed the pills and stuffed them into the pocket of her robe.

"Did they fall out of my bag?" she asked, unmistakably alarmed.

"Not exactly…"

"…They gave me them at the ER… they're just painkillers," she stuttered.

"Really," Giles leaned his back against the worktop, folded his arms and stared down at the floor.

Skye frowned. "Wait a minute… they couldn't have… Did you go in my bag?"

Giles said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor, wondering how much rope it was going to take.

"Why would you go through my bag? They were well…"

"…Hidden?"

"What's this about? Why do I feel like I'm on trial?"

"You tell me."

"Dad!"

"What are they for?"

"What…?"

"…The drugs—what's their clinical use?"

"I told you!"

"You told me they were painkillers." He looked up and stared into her eyes. She held his gaze for a second before having to look away. "They're antipsychotics."

She was physically taken aback and it took her a moment to recover before she could reply. "So… what… you're a pharmacist now?"

"No, but there's more than one doctor living in this house," Giles replied, evenly.

"I don't believe this! How dare you go through my things… and… and then go to Martin behind my back."

"I _could_ talk about ethics, but I seem to have misplaced my copy of the state medical board's code of conduct, as have you, so it would seem."

Giles watched Skye as a look of utter desolation fell across her face. She rubbed her forehead, shielding her eyes from him. Her hand was shaking and her breathing was becoming increasingly erratic but Giles felt like he daren't move. This would be so much easier if she asked him for help rather than him having to fight her for every scrap of information, and he knew that with Skye, that meant not giving in to the urge to comfort her. After an awkward silence, Skye folded her arms, mirroring Giles' body language; he suspected this was not a good sign.

"It isn't what you think," she said sharply, obviously having regained some of her momentum.

"No? Then why don't you explain what _it_ is."

"They're not mine…"

"…Christ! Skye, don't tell me we have to play these games because frankly, they're insulting to both of us," Giles seethed.

"Have you told mom?"

"Not yet."

"But you're going to?"

"Do you expect me to lie to your mother in the same way you're lying to me?"

A tear escaped from the corner of Skye's eye and trickled down her cheek, over the bruise that was now a mixture of lemon and lilac rather than the yellow and purple it had been earlier in the evening. Giles' face softened, but still he didn't reach out to her.

"I know I haven't been in your life for very long, but I thought that you trusted me enough to talk to me…"

"…I do trust you."

"Then prove it. Prove that you trust me by telling me what's been going on."

Skye nodded. "Okay." She walked through to the lounge and perched on the edge of the sofa. Giles followed sitting in the armchair opposite her. She didn't look at him, but nervously toyed with the tail of her robe's belt.

"I don't know where to start," she mumbled.

"Why did you start taking the drugs?"

Skye swallowed. "Because I… uh… I think I'm cracking up."

"Why do you think that? What symptoms have you experienced?" He was determined to keep this conversation as unemotional as possible for as long as possible.

"I keep having dreams… nightmares."

"Everyone has nightmares. What was so different about yours that they made you think you were suffering some kind of… psychotic break?" She shuddered and he could tell that for a second she was transported somewhere else. "Skye, what were the dreams about?"

She glanced up at him and at least acknowledged his presence. "Monsters attacking me… I know it sounds stupid and that I shouldn't be as rattled about this as I was when I was a kid."

"So you had these dreams when you were younger too?"

Skye nodded, "…And when I first went to college. I know it must be stress that triggers them."

"Not necessarily," Giles muttered, mentally calculating the year that Skye started college. "So they started up again just before I arrived in New York?"

"Yeah - a few months before."

"Were they the same as before?"

She nodded.

Giles didn't believe her. "So because your mind started to replay your childhood nightmares you decided to medicate yourself with antipsychotic drugs?" She stayed silent. "How long have you been taking them?"

"_I couldn't fail!_ I didn't want to disappoint you and mom and Martin…" Her voice had gone up a pitch and she was shaking again.

"…How long?"

"I'm not sure," she sobbed, fresh tears spilling out across her face.

"Yes you are," Giles insisted, "_How_ long?"

She buried her head in her hands. "About six months," she sobbed.

Martin had told Giles about the side effects of long-term usage, but he had no idea whether six months fell into that bracket, if it didn't, he suspected it wasn't far off. But she must have understood the risks of what she was doing, both to her health and her career. She had been desperate.

"What was different about the dreams?"

"They wouldn't stop… when I woke up, they wouldn't stop. I could still hear them and see them. And then they started… when I was awake… at work. I couldn't concentrate with that stuff going on in my head. That's the only reason I did it… you have to believe me, dad… I know it's wrong, but I couldn't fail… It's the only thing I've ever wanted to do… I _can't_ _fail_." She seemed to snap back into controlled mode and took a deep breath as she stood up. "I should go to bed, have to be in work early in the morning."

"No you don't. Sit down." Giles looked up at Skye who was frowning. "Your boss… Dr Brinkman… said that he has signed you off for a week…"

"…I can't miss a week… you don't understand…"

"…He also said that you were to report for a meeting at the Westchester Division… before setting foot… in his… department again."

Skye flopped back down and started to sob. Giles couldn't play the uninvolved quiz master any longer. Moving next to her on the sofa, he put his arms around her.

"You have to tell me everything. I can't help you unless you do," he said softly as she cried against him. He waited until she had composed herself before continuing. "What else has been going on?"

She sniffed, but did not move. "They all think I'm crazy… in the department. I umm… I broke the nose of one of the residents."

"What?"

"I didn't mean to. He'd been hitting on me for weeks then this time he grabbed me and I hit on him… right on the nose. I was lucky he didn't report me, but I think he told Brinkman."

Giles frowned. "He was lucky you didn't report him for harassment. Did you hit him hard?" Giles asked, sincerely hoping she had.

"Must have, he needed surgery." Muffled sobs started to come from Skye again as she buried her face in his sweater.

"Don't…" Giles began.

"…It's not that. I've mucked up other stuff too. I nearly killed someone… a patient."

"What happened?"

"I was doing compressions, but I was distracted, not paying enough attention to what I was doing and I must have been pressing too hard and his ribs just… shattered. Fragments of bone pierced his lung… and it was my fault… they had to open him up. I'm becoming a liability and they know it…" she cried.

"I think I know what's causing all of this. But, I need you to tell me about what happened today, with the boy. How did you feel when they brought him in?"

"I wasn't feeling too good… I didn't sleep well last night, and I felt kind of ill."

"Was that because of the dreams?"

She sat up and run her fingers through her hair before looking back at Giles. "This is gonna sound weird, but I saw him… I saw everything… in my dream."

Giles nodded, "go on."

"When I was on the phone to you, I started to get this sense of deja vu and I just knew he was there… behind me."

That was all Giles needed to hear. He had forced himself to stay open to the possibility that Skye was suffering a breakdown due to the stress of work (and possibly him showing up), but visions of attacking monsters, increased strength, accelerated healing and prophetic dreams added up to only one thing. Why hadn't he seen the signs? It seemed that even a trained watcher could be as oblivious to the evidence as any other concerned parent.

"And then you fought him?"

Skye nodded.

Giles started to get up. "Come with me."

Skye looked confused but followed Giles over to the large mirror that hung over the fireplace. Giles stared at her face in the glass, drawing her attention in.

"Look at the bruise on your cheek and then look at mine."

Skye hesitated and looked like she was about to cry again.

"I'm not doing this to make you feel guilty; I just want you to see the difference between them."

Skye glanced at Giles' reflection before staring at her own. Her hand shot up to her face and her fingers traced over the fading bruise.

"How…?" she murmured.

Giles turned to look at her, taking hold of her shoulders and turning her to him.

"You have more rapid healing capabilities than the rest of us. You are also physically stronger and… from time to time… you will have foreknowledge of things to come. The dreams should start to lessen now, but if not, there are techniques that can help."

Skye shook her head and frowned. "I don't understand."

"For generations there has been only one, and as far as I can conclude from my research, although the daughters of watchers were often, if not always potentials, they were never chosen. But all that has changed now, there are no longer potentials, only slayers, and _you_ are one of them."

"She's a what?" Frankie almost shrieked, her eyes opening wider.

"Keep your voice down," Giles whispered, closing their bedroom door.

Frankie slumped down onto the bed that's crumpled sheets bore witness to the fact that she had _tried_ to sleep. Giles removed his glasses and squinted, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She's a slayer," he sighed, "and there's nothing you or I can do to change that."

"The judo classes…" Frankie muttered.

"Hmm?"

"When she was seven, maybe eight, she took up judo but they asked her to leave… said she was too advanced to train with her age group, but too small to join the adult class. We ended up taking a tai chi class together."

Giles sat next to Frankie and took hold of her hand.

"Potentials are quite often gifted with greater physical strength than the average child."

"Why?" She asked, turning to him. "I mean, why is one girl a potential and not another—why her?"

"I fear it is another of the Giles family legacies," he sighed, replacing his glasses.

"Was there anything I should have done? I mean to help?"

Giles turned to Frankie with a look of concern. "There was nothing you could have done, and there was nothing that I could have done, had I have been here." He knew that her sense of guilt knew no bounds when it came to Skye. She sighed and rubbed her forehead before leaning against Giles' shoulder.

"I knew she was having a tough time, I should have tried harder to get her to talk."

"We both should have. But Skye's an adult and we have to remember that. She wouldn't have appreciated us butting our noses in. You know how fiercely she guards her independence."

"I made her like that…"

"…No you didn't! I'm not going to let you turn this into another opportunity to torture yourself!" He sighed, and tried to reign in his temper. She started to sit up but he cupped her head with his hand and pulled her back to him. "I'm sorry… I just hate that you do that to yourself. You used to be so… carefree, until you met me."

"You never really believed that did you?"

Giles snorted and shook his head. "No, I don't suppose I did."

"You were…are… the best thing that's ever happened to me." She laughed. "I'm starting to sound like one of my own corny songs."

Giles put his hands on her cheeks and pulled her into a lingering kiss. When he pulled away he smiled, almost shyly. "That was by way of… saying… umm… ditto. Although actually, that would be incorrect, because ditto means…"

"…Rupert?"

"Yes?"

"Don't spoil it."

Giles chuckled.

"Come to bed."

The music burst out of the speakers, jolting Skye into consciousness. Her gym buddy, Hannah, gave her a concerned look.

"Are you sure you should be here?"

"God, Hannah!" Skye exclaimed, turning her attention back to the instructor who was barking instructions over the dizzy music that was distorting in her ear drum. She forced her body to start moving, muscles hurting in places where she was pretty sure there were no muscles.

The springing up and down was making her right kidney squirm but she was going to ignore it; that and all the stuff that was going round her head. Feeling a tugging that she shouldn't be feeling in a tendon in her right thigh, she stopped jumping and rubbed her leg. Hannah also stopped and frowned at Skye.

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are."

Skye turned her attention back to the instructor and tried to pick up the pace. Slayer she might be, but not a very good one, not a very fit one. Last night if she'd hesitated a second longer than she did it would have been cut to fade and lights out. That thing had nearly had her by the throat. Thank goodness male vampires were clearly as sensitive in the 'crown jewels' area as their human counterparts. A carefully placed knee had won her the seconds it had taken to find the reflex tester, but she was painfully aware of how close she had come to being breakfast for that poor kid. The thought that the _thing_ that had attacked her was, only yesterday, running around with his friends imagining a life as a fireman (or more likely a gang member) was enough to make her miss her step and almost fall over her own feet. She told herself that she had to stop thinking about things like that, but she couldn't. She wanted to find the thing that had stolen his young soul and make it suffer. She'd never felt so enraged before, never, and she wasn't sure what to do with the emotion. Skye stopped jumping up and down and weaved her way through the throbbing aerobic masses and walked straight through to the gym. A friend of Martin's was pressing weights on one of the benches but she avoided his gaze, pretending not to have seen him. She couldn't stand an ounce more sympathy; after all, she'd only done what she was _made_ to do.

At the back of the gym, a punch bag was calling to her. She'd never used one but boy she felt like punching some_thing_. She looked around to see if anyone was watching and then whacked the dead weight with the side of her fist. It didn't hurt as much as she imagined it would, in fact, it was quite satisfying. Someone tapped her shoulder and she spun around to see one of the staff holding a pair of gloves.

"Whoa there!" he grinned. "I thought you might need these - you wouldn't want to mess up those pretty hands."

Skye smiled and took the gloves from him. "Thanks."

"Here, let me," he said, lacing the oversized gloves about her wrists. "You need some help? I'm no expert but I could probably give you some pointers?"

Skye shook her head. "I'll be fine, thanks." She _would _be fine.

"Okay. Come find me if you need help getting them off," he replied, nodding before wandering back in the direction of the benches.

Skye weighed up her opponent. She felt ridiculous – she didn't have any idea what she was doing. A sharp pain in her kidney reminded her of what she was doing and she landed a fist in the centre of the bag causing it to waver backwards. From then on she didn't really think much at all and the swinging blue bag took on a life of its own.

Giles scanned the instruments of torture wondering where Skye could have got to. Hannah had told him that she had given up on her aerobics class and had headed in this direction, but all he could see were rows of testosterone driven lifters. There appeared to be just the one woman - although one could be forgiven for assuming there were none, he thought, admiring the woman's developed collection of triceps and biceps. _She_ was the sort of woman who should be a slayer, not Skye, not _his_ daughter.

Just as he was turning to leave, he caught sight of a "Who's the daddy?" t-shirt knocking seven bells out of a punch bag that was swinging like a pendulum. He moved closer and heard her grunting with effort, landing one punch after another. There's some force behind those punches, he observed, absently rubbing his cheek where one of those blows had knocked him sideways the day before. When she showed no sign of stopping or even acknowledging his presence, he stepped behind the bag and took hold of it.

"You need to keep your hands up – you're letting them drop in between jabs," he said as her eyes met his. For a second she looked like she'd been caught taking the last jelly doughnut from the box, but then she raised her hands to just below her chin and looked to him for approval. Giles nodded with a fleeting sense of deja vu.

"It was probably a good idea to… umm… get active this morning," he said, as they started down the sidewalk toward home. "Hopefully you won't feel as stiff this evening as you might've."

Skye nodded vaguely and adjusted the bag on her shoulder. She had barely spoken to him in the gym and had said nothing since they had left. Skye's ability to bottle things up was rivalled only by his own, and perhaps Frankie's. Christ, the poor girl's damned by genetics, he lamented. Spotting the pet store he and Frankie had visited a few days before, he lightly touched her elbow.

"I want to show you something," he said in hushed tones. Skye was obviously so surprised at being led into a pet store by her father that she didn't protest. Giles walked past the rows of cages containing small moving balls of fluff and into the darkened grotto-like aquarium beyond. He stooped in front of a tank and peered inside before looking up at Skye. Pulling her down so that her head was level with his, he whispered "I think I've found something important."

Skye's eyes opened wider with interest, if not a hint of suspicion. Giles grinned. "I think I've found," he looked around dramatically, overtly checking that no one was eavesdropping. "I think I've found Nemo," he whispered, pointing at a small clown fish that was half hidden by a lichen-covered yellow submarine.

"Dad!" she squealed, pushing him hard enough to make him lose his balance, but then she started giggling. She giggled so hard that several other customers stopped and stared at her, obviously wondering what could be so funny about tropical fish. Giles smiled with relief as he watched some of the tension seep out of her.

The tank had been filled and emptied four times, all the filters had all been checked and the water had been tested for temperature and P.H. levels. At seven o'clock that evening, Nemo and four fishy friends had been released into the elaborately furnished aquarium. Frankie stared at the fish tank and then turned her attention to Giles, shaking her head.

"What!"

"Nothing!" she replied, a smile creeping across her lips.

Skye breezed in, stopping in front of the tank and peering in. Frankie watched Giles' face light up to see Skye so enthralled with her new pets. Frankie had noticed this new pattern of behaviour by which Skye and Giles would play out some childhood outing. She supposed that they needed to do it in order to connect with a past neither of them had shared. It certainly appeared to have cemented their relationship. Only a couple of weeks before, they had arrived home from a visit to the zoo with an enormous cuddly lion that took up an entire corner of Skye and Martin's bedroom. Giles really did seem to enjoy playing 'daddy'. She cut off the thought, resisting the road that led to guilt and regret.

Giles rubbing Skye's hands between his own brought her attention back to the present. "Are you cold?" he asked, the furrow between his eyebrows returning.

"A bit," she replied, visibly shaking.

"Come on, come and sit on the sofa and I'll get you a blanket." He pulled her up and grabbed a throw to wrap around her.

Frankie sat down beside her daughter and put a hand on her forehead. "You're not cold, honey, if anything you're running a temperature. How do you feel?"

Skye shrugged. "Just a bit jittery - maybe I'm coming down with something."

Frankie sat back and pulled Skye to her, looking at Giles. "Maybe you should call Martin."

"No, I'll be fine and besides, he's due home in an hour or so," Skye replied, curling up underneath the throw.

Giles nodded and turned to put another log on the fire. Frankie could see his shoulders tightening beneath his shirt. She wished she could reassure him, but the truth was she was scared half to death knowing that her baby was being caught up in the world that had taken him away from her. Frankie kissed the top of Skye's head and wrapped her arm around her. Her child had been everything to her since before leaving England, and she would not let anyone, or any_thing_, take Skye away from her now.

Martin arrived home just after nine having been delayed by an emergency appendectomy. He took one look at Skye and frowned.

She forced a smile and sat up. "Hi. How was your shift?"

"What dosage did you take today?" he asked, dispensing with niceties.

"Ummm… none," she replied sheepishly.

Martin rolled his eyes in exasperation. "There are no half measures with you, are there Skye?"

"I wanted it out of my system."

"Withdrawals?" Giles asked.

"Ah huh," Martin grunted, obviously not impressed with this latest turn in Skye's behaviour. "If you want to go cold turkey, then I guess that's your decision." Without saying anything more, Martin headed upstairs.

Skye sighed, got up and followed him. By the last flight of stairs she was feeling somewhat light-headed and almost breathless, but not quite. She pushed open their bedroom door and spotted Martin sitting on the bed, elbows on knees and face in hands. She was overcome by the sincere wish to take back the last few months. She sat down next to him and looked at her hands resting on her knees - they were still trembling and so she gripped her knees tighter in order to still them.

"So, what d'you think?" she asked, quietly.

Martin looked up and stared at the wall. "I don't know. I mean, I'm happy that you can defend yourself when necessary, but how I feel about you being a _slayer_? That'll depend entirely on what you decide to do about it."

At least he's being honest, she thought, and he had skipped to the issue at hand leaving aside the small matter of her lying to him for the last six months. "I'm not sure the decision is mine to make. From what dad's said about slayers they're chosen, the decision is taken out of their hands. It's their duty… it's _my_ duty."

"Of course you have a choice!" he said, shuffling round to face her. "There are lots of slayers all over the world, let them handle the vampires. You're a doctor Skye, you've taken an oath, and you're bound to save li…" he fell silent.

"Yes, I am." The thought had already crossed her mind. "I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure," she recited from memory. "I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm."

When she looked up, Martin was staring directly at her with those knowing eyes that had understood her from the beginning. She felt his hand brush across her cheek. For a second she wanted to suggest they get in the car and go away, maybe take up his father's offer of employment with his practice – anywhere where they could escape from her overdeveloped sense of duty. His hand dropped from her face.

"You do what you need to do. I'll be here."

Her first scream woke the entire household. Martin nearly expired from shock as he had been suffering none too pleasant dreams himself. As soon as he realised what was happening he grabbed Skye by the shoulders and shook her as hard as he could.

"Wake up, Skye, you're dreaming."

The sensations of reality had melded with Skye's dream world and she immediately thrashed out at him, managing to throw him clear from the bed. The sound of Martin colliding with the bedside cabinet and dislodging the glass based lamp which it held, combined with the noise of Giles and Frankie bursting in through the door had the effect of waking Skye from her nightmare. She sat bolt upright, breathing heavily, not quite taking in the scene before her.

Giles tried to catch his breath. He'd taken the stairs three at a time and hadn't been quite awake until he had reached the bedroom door. His gaze fell on Martin who appeared to have had the worst deal of them all. Before he could enquire as to his state of physical well being, Skye jumped out of bed and knelt beside him. She reached a hand toward his forehead where blood was beginning to well. He put his hand out to stop her and winced as he got to his feet.

"Let me see that?" she almost pleaded.

"It's nothing," replied Martin, in a tone that suggested it was anything but nothing.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, you were dreaming; it's not your fault," he said evenly.

Giles watched Martin, wondering if he were mistaken in thinking that there was a smattering of controlled rage lying behind his calm facade.

"Frankie, could you clean that up for Martin whilst Skye and I go down to my study?" He asked in such a way that no one could mistake that his question had but _one_ reply. He reached down and took Skye's arm. Her attention was still fixed on Martin who was looking anywhere but back at Skye. Clearly she too had heard that hint of something in his voice.

Giles held onto her arm until he had sat her down in the easy chair in his study. As soon as he had shut the door her worries tumbled out of her.

"What am I going to do? I'm not sure _I_ can handle this why should I expect _him_ to? This isn't fair. I've lied to him and deceived him and now we can't even sleep in the same bed without me hurting him…" she gasped for air, wiping her cheek with the sleeve of her pyjamas.

He pulled his chair directly in front of hers and laid a hand on her shoulder. "What he said was true. What just happened _wasn't_ your fault. Granted, coming off your medication so quickly won't have helped, but you were having a nightmare – you were asleep and therefore not in control of your actions."

"I hear that's a viable murder defence these days, so I suppose assault is nothing." She had caught her breath and appeared to be quite calm but spoke totally without humour.

Giles took his hand away from her shoulder and ran his fingers through his hair. "Maybe it would be a good idea for you to sleep in the spare room for the time being, at least until we know how to deal with your dreams. Incidentally, what were you dreaming about?"

Skye shrugged. "I don't remember."

Giles nodded. "There's something I think we should try: hypnosis." He enunciated the word deliberately, watching for her reaction. "I know it's only one step away from using drugs, but it is slightly less risky and I think it might work." He watched Skye's face run through a series of expressions ranging from horror to fascination tinged with a smidgen of hilarity.

"If you think it'll work. I don't think that I'm very suggestible though."

Giles smiled. He thought otherwise. He had generally found slayers to be very easy to hypnotise, after all, he'd done it without their consent or knowledge on occasion. He pushed aside the memory of Buffy's 'coming of age' fiasco as he pressed back his chair and stood up. "Well, we'll just see how it goes. Why don't you go and make yourself comfortable in the spare room and I'll be with you in a moment."

"You wanna to try hypnotising me now?" asked Skye without making any attempt to move.

"No time like the present, as they say."

"But… I need to speak to Martin; I need to see if he's okay…"

"Martin will be fine. Besides, I think he would appreciate some breathing space," he added quickly, cutting off any further discussion.

Skye nodded and departed for the spare bedroom that lay across the hall.

Giles took a small bunch of keys from the desk drawer and proceeded to unlock the tall cabinet in the corner of the room. The solidly built oak unit that had been his fathers held all that he considered precious or dangerous; what he was looking for would be correctly classified as both. He pulled out the grounding crystal and no more than glanced at it before carrying it through to the spare room where Skye was curled up against the headboard, clutching a pillow to her.

Giles put the crystal on the bedside table and adjusted the angle-poise lamp so that the shaft of light illuminated the very heart of the crystal. Skye looked at him questioningly.

"It's pretty. What kind of crystal is it?"

"Oh… uhhh it's celestite. There are deposits both here and in California as it would happen, but this particular crystal is from Madagascar. It's extremely rare to find one so large and faultless, they're normally quite cloudy, not such a deep blue."

"But it's not totally faultless, I can see a flaw running all the way through," Skye replied, tracing her finger down the centre of the crystal.

Giles sat on the edge of the bed, noting Skye's increasingly dreamy countenance. "Why don't you lie down?" he asked, lifting the quilt for her and then angling the pillow in direct alignment with the crystal. Skye laid her head on the pillow and once again focussed her attention on the stone.

"What's it _meant_ to do?" she asked, through a yawn.

Giles smoothed the quilt around her and lightly stroked her hair away from her face. Sometimes he thought she looked more like her mother than like him, but at that moment she was a Giles through and through. He gazed into her sleepy green eyes _knowing_ her to be his.

"Dad?"

"Some people say that they find it calming, that it balances energies." He smiled as he saw her top lip twitch. She was a scientist; acceptance of the existence of an unproven metaphysical world would not come easily to her. "It's something for you to focus on while you listen to my voice." There was no point in going into the ins and outs of vibratory crystals this evening, he would leave the longer debate for the morning when he'd had half a litre of caffeine and could face her in-depth questioning. "Now, I want you to focus on the fault in the crystal and listen to my voice." He continued to stroke her hair as she centred her attention on the crystal. Within less than a minute he could tell that nothing short of a rampaging rhino would pull her gaze away from the hypnotic blue. "You are starting to feel relaxed and the longer you listen to my voice the more relaxed you will feel. In a few minutes your eyelids are going to feel very heavy and you are going to want to close them. When I tell you it's time to go to sleep you will fall into a deep sleep and you will be totally relaxed and sleep soundly and peacefully." Giles concentrated on keeping his voice as quiet and as even as he could, whilst rhythmically brushing his fingers against the side of her face. "When I say it is time, you will fall asleep and will not dream but will relax into a sound, peaceful and dreamless sleep. You will fall asleep and stay asleep for eight hours after which you will awake feeling fully refreshed and less anxious. You are feeling more and more relaxed. With every breath that you take, you are sinking deeper and deeper into a state of total relaxation." Giles paused and waved his hand in front of her but her eyes remained fixed. "It's time to go to sleep, love," he whispered, and Skye's eyes closed on cue. He sat watching her for a moment, unable to bring himself to break contact with her. He leaned over and kissed her forehead before standing and grasping the celestite, not wishing it to be the first thing Skye glimpsed when she awoke.

Giles slept for considerably less than eight hours. He sat up, rubbing his forehead before glancing at Frankie who was still fast asleep. He eased himself out of bed and stumbled downstairs to the kitchen and was unsurprised to find Martin sitting drinking coffee from an oversized mug. On seeing Giles, Martin got up and poured him an equally large mug of coffee before slumping back onto his stool. Giles set himself down across the breakfast bar from Martin and stared at him unashamedly.

Martin's cheeks gained an uncharacteristic pink tinge as he diverted his gaze to the depths of his coffee. "I shouldn't have been so off hand with her," he muttered.

"Oh I don't know, she _had_ just caused you a considerable amount of pain," Giles replied, running his gaze across the contusion above Martin's right eye. "Not to mention what she's put you through over the last few months." Martin looked up, clearly surprised by Giles' sympathetic tone. "I think you have been very understanding, very… patient. But you should know that life isn't likely to get any easier than it is now. Even if Skye decides against being an active slayer, it's been my experience that situations requiring a slayer's particular skills present themselves more and more frequently, regardless of the slayer's willingness to exercise her duty."

"You can't possibly think she's any intention of walking away?" Martin asked.

Giles had been unable to stop himself from hoping against hope that Skye would do just that. He'd watched Buffy being beaten over and over again, hell he'd even watched her die only to be dragged back to this sorry world to be beaten within an inch of her life again, and to watch her family and friends threatened, maimed and killed. He'd seen too much, _she_ had seen too much, and yes, he'd prayed that Skye would be spared that life. Of course he knew that his hope was in vain, but the reality of that knowledge was too much to bear. Giles shook his head. "No I don't. But d'you think _you_ can handle it?"

Martin took a deep breath and rubbed his chin. Giles was comforted by Martins delayed response; the fact that he didn't answer immediately proved that at least he wasn't taking the matter lightly.

"Because if you don't think you can," Giles continued, "I think it would be easier for all concerned if you left sooner rather than later. After all, this wasn't what you signed up for. I'm sure you have _alternatives_ open to you."

"What!" Martin shouted, slamming down his mug. "You can't be serious? You can't think I'd leave her because of this?"

"It's not something I'd joke about. It's just I've seen slayers have their heart broken because the man involved couldn't handle having a girlfriend who was much stronger than they were. She's been through enough, Martin, one more strain might break the camel's back and I won't let that happen. I know how she feels about you… and that you love her…"

"…You're damned right I do! Fuck! No, I'm not going to leave her when she needs me most!"

"Well, good."

"Well _good_?" Martin repeated, his eyes alight with anger.

"I needed to be sure of your commitment."

"You want me to marry her? Because I'm willing, y'know - I've asked her often enough! It's not _me _that's afraid of making a commitment it's Skye. So maybe your fucking out of line questions ought to be directed at your daughter and not me!" Martin glared at Giles before storming out, leaving his unbalanced stool to crash to the floor.

Half an hour passed before Giles heard Martin's footsteps coming back down the stairs. He righted the stool and retook his seat opposite Giles.

"I'm sorry," Giles apologised, without really meaning it.

"No you're not," Martin retorted, "but I understand why you felt you needed to do it."

Giles nodded.

Martin sighed. "I'm gonna need some help getting this right. I don't want to stuff this up. I don't want to lose her… to anything."

Giles' lips pressed firmly together. Martin's a good man, he thought – smart, dependable, loyal, and best of all, he's not a _sodding_ vampire.

Skye opened her eyes and stretched. Looking around, she tried to remember why she was in the spare room. After a couple of seconds she was able to recollect the events of the early hours clearly enough to make her wince. She really had to talk to Martin and clear the air. She stretched again and glanced at the clock on the bedside cabinet. "Bloody hell," she exclaimed out loud, mimicking her father's tones. It was nearly eleven o'clock – she hadn't slept so late in years, she was normally up with the lark regardless of when she had crawled into bed the night before. It was then that she remembered the conversation with her dad about hypnosis and something about a crystal. She swung her legs out of bed and stood up, immediately starting her morning stretch routine. She was surprised how good she felt, the aches and pains that she had woken with the day before had gone. She rolled her shoulders, gratified by how _conscious_ she was – none of the fuzziness that the medication had been causing. After remaking the bed she wandered out into the hallway and up the stairs to hers and Martin's domain. Martin appeared in the doorway of their bedroom and she was more than a little surprised when he smiled warmly.

"Good morning, well, afternoon almost," he grinned, tapping his watch.

"Yeah, I can't believe it."

"You look much better for it. Amazing what eight hours'll do."

Skye nodded and smiled awkwardly. "I'm really sorry about last night."

Martin batted her comment away with his hand. "Don't worry about it. _I'll_ only worry if you start beating on me when you're awake. Besides, it could have been worse, I mean you didn't call out another guy's name as you were throwing me outta bed."

Skye giggled. He was alluding to an incident a few months before when Martin had been calling out the name of his fifth grade math teacher in his sleep, who he'd admitted later to having been the object of his first real crush.

"You gonna take a shower?" Martin asked, extending his hand to her.

"You gonna scrub my back?" she grinned, taking his hand and squeezing it.

Martin pulled Skye toward the bathroom. "I think it's my duty as your elder, and your better, to demonstrate to you, Dr Giles, my award winning scrubbing-in technique."

"Oh yeah?" she giggled.

"Ohh yeah!" Martin grinned, pulling her into the bathroom and closing the door.

Skye stared at the heaps of dusty boxes that had been pushed to the edges of the large storeroom. The stone floor had been covered with a blue foam exercise mat and she just _knew_ that the big wooden chest lying in the corner _had_ to contain a selection of slayer paraphernalia. She righted her posture and looked at her father who turned to face her, wearing enough padding to play quarterback for the Giants. She couldn't help it, she collapsed into giggles.

"Skye!" Giles sighed, more than a little exasperated.

"I'm sorry, really, but come on… you don't think this is all a little surreal?" she hiccupped. "Here we are, in the basement of the New York Public Library, possibly the most important civic building in the city, and I'm training to slay vampires and you're… you're dressed like you're about to go ten rounds with Mike Tyson." Skye giggled.

Giles rolled his eyes. "How am I to teach you anything?"

"It might help if you took off the Hannibal Lector mask so at least I could understand what you're saying," she said, spiralling into more hiccupping.

"No wonder Dr Brinkman wanted to suspend you, he has my sympathy." Giles folded his arms and fixed Skye with his most penetrating stare, which would have been more impressive if not for being framed by bright yellow padding.

"Okay, okay! I'll behave." Skye straightened up, clearing her throat and biting her lip in an attempt to keep any insolent grins from manifesting on her face.

Giles muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing! Now, I want you to imagine that I am a vampire coming straight at you. I want to see your immediate response - it's what you're likely to fall back on in a real combat situation."

"Yes _sir_," she replied, saluting.

Giles narrowed his eyes and ran at Skye with a little more determination than he had actually planned. Skye sidestepped him at the last moment, landing a kick to his heavily padded ribs and sending him crashing to the mat. Skye cheered herself, performing what Giles assumed to be a victory dance. He grabbed her round the knees and rugby tackled her to the floor, sitting on her stomach and forcing her hands to the side of her head.

"What did we forget?" Giles asked.

"Umm… to… stake the vampire?" she squirmed.

"That's right." Giles stood up and held his hand out to Skye who pulled herself up.

"Oops!"

"Oops indeed."

"I'll do better. Umm… when _do_ I get a stake?"

"When I'm convinced that you're ready to handle weapons," he replied, readjusting the strap on his body armour.

"But it's not like I haven't already killed a vampire, I mean…"

"…You were _bloody lucky_!" Giles seethed, pulling off his head gear.

Skye gulped.

"You think that just because you managed to fend off _one _inexperienced vampire that you'll be blessed with the same good fortune next time round? If you think that this is some sort of _game_ in which good always prevails then maybe we ought to stop this _right now_! Because good doesn't always defeat evil, slayers don't always live to tell the tale and I have centuries of watchers' diaries that testify to the bloody truth of that _if_ you need any further convincing." Giles took a deep breath, shocked by the intensity of his reaction to her flippancy.

Skye lowered her eyes to the floor. She'd never seen him so angry before and it scared her a little. She wasn't scared of what he would do to her, but was a little shaken by the effect she could have on him. "I didn't mean to sound quite so confident. I'm sorry, dad… I really _do_ wanna learn."

She heard him move towards her, but before she had time to look up, she was being squeezed in a bone-crushing bear hug. She put her arms around him and nestled her head into his neck. For the first time she thought she understood something of what her being a slayer must be doing to him, and how desperately worried he was. She was _determined_ to learn and she was _determined_ she was going to be a good slayer because more than anything, she knew it was her duty to make sure she outlived him.

After a minute or so Giles pulled away, replacing his head-guard and moving himself a short distance away from Skye.

"Now this time, let's see if we can remember to _stake_ the vampire, hmm?"

Skye nodded, planting her feet a foot apart in readiness. The play acting was over; it was time to train for real.

Skye was sitting mindlessly fingering the clutter that was lying on his desk, reminding Giles that he really should do something about the state of his work space.

"The library doesn't mind us using the basement for training?" she asked, tossing a glass paperweight from one hand to the other.

"They might, if they knew anything about it," Giles replied, slipping a requisition form into an internal envelope.

Skye gasped in mock horror. "You mean to tell me they _don't know_? Dad, that's _shocking_."

He looked up and grinned. "I know – dreadful use of public resources. But, I'm almost certain there's only one key to that room and that it lives on my keychain." He patted his jacket pocket, jingling the large bunch of keys there.

Without warning, the door flew open and a large red-faced man burst in, seemingly ready for hand-to-hand combat. "Rupert! It's you!"

Giles smiled. "Who were you expecting, Myles? Lyndon Johnson?"

The man chuckled heartily, his beer belly threatening to burst the crisp white cotton banks that held it in place.

"No… no… I thought those scoundrels that broke into Ralph's office had moved on to richer pickings. I didn't expect you to be here on a Saturday."

"Oh… just a few lose ends I needed to tie up." He shot a look at Skye who raised an amused eyebrow.

Myles' attention too had shifted to Skye. He took a couple of paces toward her, holding out his hand. "You must be the young lady we hear so much about."

She stood up and shook his hand, smiling. "If you mean his daughter, yes. Hello."

He squeezed her hand tightly, turning to Giles without letting go. "She must get her looks from her mother, thank heavens… quite charming!"

Giles grinned at Skye and rolled his eyes as Myles turned back to look at her. Skye blushed.

"Your father tells me you're a doctor; well you're by far the prettiest doctor I've ever set eyes on. I'd rather have you treating my haemorrhoids than the miserable old man I see."

Skye giggled.

Myles winked before turning to Giles. "Actually, it's fortuitous that you're here Rupert, there's something that I've been meaning to ask you."

"Oh?"

"I belong to a… umm… _philanthropic_ organisation and we're having a dinner dance to celebrate the unveiling of the Holywell Book of Hours. I thought that, as you've put so much work into the exhibition, you might be willing to give a short address? Many of our most generous benefactors will be there and I think they'd be interested to hear how we're spending their _not_ so hard earned money?"

"Oh… well… umm… yes, of course I'd be pleased to. Anything to help boost funds."

Myles slapped Giles on the back, almost winding him in the process. "Knew I could count on you! Of course we'd be delighted if you would bring your wife and your beautiful daughter." He paused to nod courteously to Skye. "I'm sure they'd add a touch of glamour to our rather stayed proceedings."

"Well actually she's not my wi…"

"We'd love to come," Skye interrupted, giving Giles a 'don't you know when to keep your mouth shut?' look.

"Wonderful! It's a week Friday at the Old Lodge on Fourth Avenue. I'll get the invitations to you next week. Enjoy the rest of your weekend," he called as he shuffled out of the office, closing the door behind him.

"Well, well, well," Skye grinned.

"Hmm?" Giles responded, already beginning to write his speech in his head.

"Philanthropic organisation, huh? So that's what they're calling it these days."

"What?"

"Dad, I do believe you're being courted!"

"Courted! What are you blathering on about?"

Skye grinned. "You really have no idea, do you?"

Giles glared. "No. This conversation has been far from enlightening. Will you stop beating about the bush and explain what in heaven's name you're going on about?"

"The _Old Lodge_ on Fourth? It's other name is the Grand Old Lodge of the First Order of Eastern Star Freemasons. It's only the oldest and most prestigious boys club on the East Coast."

"Oh… _oh_!"

Skye's rescheduled appointment with the Westchester Division of the medical school arrived much too quickly for her liking. Skye had always thought _Westchester_ an overly fancy name for what amounted to the psyche department - the place where you were sent when you'd freaked out in the line of duty once too often, or like her, had been the victim of a physical attack whilst working. To say that she had tried to get out of it would be an understatement. In desperation she had even resorted to making a personal plea to her boss, Brinkman, for all the good it had done her. All it seemed to achieve was an appointment with Brinkman's golf buddy, who happened to be the head of department, rather than the minion she was scheduled to see—who no doubt would have been easier to fool, should anyone _need_ fooling.

"You're _sure _you don't want me to wait for you?" Giles asked, squeezing her arm. "I don't mind."

Skye shook her head. Giles had insisted on taking the subway across town with her, ostensibly to keep her company but really to make sure she got there; she was under no illusions. "No, I'll be fine."

Giles smiled. "You _will_ be fine. They only want to talk to you."

"Hmm."

She walked through the swinging glass doors before he could say anything of equal comfort. What bugged her most, was that the majority of the shrinks she knew were more in need of therapy than any of the patients who were referred to them. She gave her name to the receptionist and ignored the instruction to take a seat, preferring to stare out of the window at the sprawling city below. She heard her name the second time it was called and slowly approached the office door to which she was directed. She was just about to knock when the door swung open and she came face to face with a guy whom she presumed to be Professor Ruben Kreitzer.

"Dr Giles?" he asked, holding out his hand.

Skye nodded and shook hands with him, stepping into the office.

"Can I take your coat?"

"No, I'll keep it, thanks."

"Not planning on staying long?" he joked, indicating where she should sit.

Skye shifted uncomfortably before sinking into the easy chair. Ruben sat across the coffee table from her and picked up an alarmingly bulky file that she rightly assumed to be her own.

He looked up and smiled. "Don't worry, there's nothing _too_ incriminating in here."

She nervously returned his smile, looking past him to the clock on the far wall.

"It's wrong."

"Sorry?"

"The clock - it stopped yesterday. I forgot to bring the new battery."

"Oh," she murmured, looking back down at her clenched hands. She felt him staring at her, but continued to avoid his gaze.

"So, Skye, how are you finding the emergency room?" he asked, sitting back in his chair.

She shrugged. "It's not my favourite area of medicine, but it's okay."

"Why don't you like it?"

"I don't know. I guess it's because we don't really have time to treat the whole patient."

"And that bothers you?"

"I wouldn't say it bothered me, it's just… not what I want to do." Skye glanced across the table at Ruben who nodded.

"What _do_ you want to do?"

"General medicine."

"Not psychiatry?"

"No."

"You don't like psychiatry?"

"Not really."

"You don't think it has any value?"

"I didn't say that…"

"… So it _does _have some value."

"Of course it does…"

"Just not to you?"

"I didn't say that either…"

"But you don't wanna take your coat off…"

"What's _that _got to do with anything?"

"I'm just saying you didn't want to remove your coat."

Skye looked at Ruben but refrained from continuing what was becoming a ludicrously circular conversation. God, she hated shrinks.

Ruben put the folder down on the table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He was about the same age as her father and could be described, if she were in a more generous mood, as a slightly less handsome, and slightly older, George Clooney.

"Y'know Skye, I'm not here to pass judgement on you."

"You're telling me there isn't a form in that folder that says 'fit for work', with a line underneath that requires your signature?" When Ruben didn't reply she looked away. "Then don't tell me you're not here to pass judgement, that's exactly what you're here to do."

"Can we at least agree that this session needs to happen so you _can_ return to work?"

Skye nodded, wondering what _mental_ box he'd just checked.

"Tell me about your mother." The request jolted Skye from her thoughts. She had anticipated many things but not that.

"Why do you wanna know about my mother?"

"I don't want to know anything about your mother. I want to know about your relationship with her."

"It's good, we get on well. What's that got to do with work?"

"Nothing. It's just when I went back through your medical records I found that you'd been referred here a number of times when you were a teenager."

Skye's face started to burn. It hadn't entered her head that they would dig so far back. She'd tried very hard to forget about those highly uncomfortable, and not to mention useless, meetings. Her mother's friend, Ivy or Holly, or whatever the old hippy's name had been, had persuaded her mother that _she _should see someone after her mother had overdosed. She'd hated it. They'd treated her like _she_ was the one who'd had a breakdown, like she was the one who'd tried to kill herself.

"Skye? _Skye_?"

"Hmm?"

"_I said_, will you tell me about what happened?"

No, she wouldn't. "I don't really remember all that much."

Skye walked quickly out of the building but soon broke into a run, needing to put as much distance as possible between her and _that_ office. She needed to lose herself in a crowd, become so anonymous that even she didn't know who she was anymore. After running without direction along streets and avenues, she cut down an alley and stopped, leaning against the wall and trying to catch her breath. She felt her tear ducts starting to swell in anticipation and so took a deep breath and retraced her steps back to the street. She refused to cry in public. Looking around, Skye realised that she had no idea where she was and started to hunt for a street sign, but it struck her that it didn't matter. She didn't want to know where she was, because if she didn't know where she was, then no one else knew where she was either. Her pace slowed and she tried to distract herself with the unfamiliar sights and sounds of the city streets, but snippets of conversation replayed in her mind no matter how hard she tried to block them out.

"I asked your previous rotation supervisor for a report. She said that your father showing up out of the blue could have something to do with your… recent behaviour. Would you agree?"

"No."

"The father that abandoned you before birth finally decides to put in an appearance and it doesn't affect you at all?"

"He didn't abandon me… he didn't _know_ about me."

"Your mom didn't tell him?"

"No."

"How did he find you if he didn't know you existed?"

"He was looking for her."

"…But found you instead."

"He found both of us."

"So they're sleeping together?"

"Are you deliberately trying to piss me off, Professor Kreitzer, or does it just come naturally?"

He'd laughed – bastard. If only she'd managed to not let him get to her, and if only dear old Madeline hadn't tried to do her a favour, he might have just signed the damn forms and let her go.

"With the greatest respect Professor…"

"…Call me Ruben..."

"…I don't see what _any_ of this has to do with my ability to do my job."

"Well Skye, and I say _this_ with the greatest respect: I think you're wrong."

"I was attacked… once! This is New York, that's gotta be a record!"

"Have I asked you about what happened that day?"

"No… but… I just assumed…"

"When a brilliant student and a dedicated doctor who's popular and well respected starts withdrawing from her friends and colleagues, missing important exams and meetings…"

"…I missed one exam!"

"…When she starts acting erratically, loses her temper, assaults another member of staff…"

"… He practically assaulted me…"

"… then it's quite clear that there are personal issues that need resolving."

"I don't _have_ any issues!"

"So the monsters aren't still attacking you, Skye?"

Her face alone must have given her away and it had been game over.

She spotted a small park on the other side of the street and headed in that direction. The flowerbeds were well kept and the bushes carefully pruned, in fact the park seemed somewhat out of place amongst the grimy streets that surrounded it. She found a bench and collapsed, no longer able to walk or think straight.

"Do you drink at all?"

"No, I don't."

"Do drugs?"

"No!"

"Never?"

"I don't do drugs."

"You never get a headache and pop an Advil?"

"That's not what you meant."

"Actually, that's kinda what I meant. Y'see a lot of the newly qualified doctors that end up here, find that they can't cope with the stress of the job, and so rather than bother their physician, they just write themselves a script for Lexapro or Paxil. They get on with their jobs and everyone's happy, until the day they realise that they're out of pills and they have a twelve hour shift ahead of them. It's _then_ they make the mistake of filing a script in one of the hospital pharmacies who, for auditing purposes, have to marry prescriptions to patients files. But you probably know all of this, huh? Yeah I thought so, because you're a lot smarter that the average junior. I bet you'd file somewhere far away from the hospital… somewhere on the other side of the city, say?"

It was then that she had realised that he knew, but she'd been so careful.

"Your mistake was to fail to pick up your repeat. Seems that Madeline from…" he looked down at her file. "_Wegman's drug store_ assumed that you'd been too busy to collect them, and so she very kindly dropped them off at the ER on her way home."

Damn! Damn, damn, _damn_! Talk about killing someone with kindness.

"Harry Brinkman saw what the prescription was for and, for once in his life, put two and two together and got four. That's when he called me. You're lucky he has a real soft spot for you, he's willing to let it drop—on a number of conditions, of course."

Skye rested her head in her hands and rubbed away the tear that had formed at the corner of her eye. He'd said that he believed her when she'd told him she'd stopped taking the damned pills, but he'd made her have a blood test anyway. It was all so embarrassing and made her feel smaller and more powerless than ever before.

"I know that this will be the worst condition for you, but we're gonna meet, twice a week, without fail."

"For how long?"

"Until I say we're finished but, it _will _depend largely on how honest you are, not just with me, but with yourself."

Giles glanced up at the clock. Nine fifteen; Skye should have been home hours ago. He tried her cell again but, like before, it connected him to the answering service.

"Skye, it's dad. Give me a call when you get this, would you?" He replaced the receiver and sighed.

Frankie walked in and glanced at the clock before flopping into an armchair. "She could have stayed to meet Martin from his shift."

"Then why has she got her cell switched off?"

"Maybe she just needed a bit of time by herself."

For a while they sat in silence, listening to the tick-tock of the mantle clock. Giles stood up and huffed. Thrusting his hands in his pockets he started to pace the room. He couldn't stand waiting for anything, but he had a bad feeling about this. Skye's moods and behaviour had been erratic for months; _he_ now understood that it was with good reason, but what if she'd been that way in work? The front door slammed and Frankie shot up out of her seat and rushed into the hall. Giles followed her to the doorway and observed Skye pulling off her jacket. Tendrils of hair were plastered to her neck although it couldn't be described as warm outside.

"Honey, you're late back," Frankie said, taking Skye's Jacket from her.

"Oh mom! I'm not a kid anymore," Skye sighed. "Hi dad," she said, without making eye contact and heading straight up the stairs.

"Your mother's put some dinner aside for you," he said, without moving.

"Thanks, but I'm not really hungry. I… er… I ate out." She continued up the stairs without looking back.

Frankie turned and looked at Giles. "She's been crying."

Giles nodded and walked back into the lounge.

"I should go up there and see if she's okay."

"No, Frankie, leave her for a while."

Frankie sighed, walked over to the piano and stared out of the window. "You don't think they'd suspend her medical licence? I mean, they can't do that can they, even if they knew about the pills?"

"No, I don't think so. She'd go before a disciplinary hearing first," he replied, rubbing at the tension in the back of his neck.

Giles and Frankie had previously discussed the reasoning for Skye's boss' insistence on changing her appointment. Skye seemed content to believe that it was because Dr Brinkman and this Kreitzer were buddies, but Giles had checked, and her appointment had been shifted from a counsellor to a psychiatrist, which made him suspect that they had somehow found out about her self-medicating. He hadn't wanted to alarm Skye by suggesting that, but he wished he'd waited for her at the hospital.

Giles looked at Frankie. He really wanted to go up there and talk to Skye alone, she'd put on a brave face if Frankie was around, as she always had. He'd never seen Skye cry in front of her mother, but she did in front of him and it'd break his heart every time but at least she'd show her emotions.

"Okay, looks like she's no intention of coming down here. You'd best go and talk to her," he said.

Frankie turned to face Giles wearing a sad smile. "You do it. She'll tell you more than she would me."

Giles sighed; she was doing that mind reading trick again. He walked over and wrapped his arms around her. There was nothing he could say that would comfort her, even if, perversely, Skye's reticence with her mother clearly stemmed from a strength of feeling that she would never have for him. He let go of Frankie, planting a kiss on the top of her head before walking out and mounting the stairs.

The third floor was in darkness, there wasn't even the tell-tale line of light around the bedroom door. Giles knocked once, but on receiving no reply, pushed the door open.

"Skye?"

The bedside lamp flicked on. Skye was sat on the edge of the bed still wearing the sweatshirt, jeans and pumps she'd gone out in. Giles sat down beside her and clasped his hands in front of him.

"What happened?"

He heard a number of false starts before she muttered, "they knew, about the Olanzapine."

"Do they intend to discipline you?"

"No."

Giles closed his eyes, briefly thanking whichever god was listening for that small mercy.

"Did this Kreitzer chap give you a hard time?"

He felt her tense beside him, causing him look up at her. "Skye? What happened?"

"Nothing," she said after a moment. "He's fine, harmless… it was…. umm… I'm going to see him again."

Giles frowned. If it had really been okay she'd have been sounding off about how useless shrinks were, and denying their status as 'proper' scientists - they'd all been treated to one of her rants the day before. He reached out and touched her shoulder. "Then why have you been crying?"

Skye shrugged off his hand and stood up, shuffling around like a caged rat. "He knew everything. He knew about the pills and the guy and… and he even knew about what happened with mom." She swiped the back of her hand across her face and avoided his gaze. "He's making me go to see him. I don't show and do what he tells me, I get reported to the dean."

"I'm sorry love, but it could have been much worse…"

"No it couldn't!" she screamed. "You don't get it! He knows stuff… he knows about my dreams… he had all these records from when I was a kid. I told them about the monsters and the vampires… but I can't tell him that it's okay; that my dad's told me I'm a _vampire slayer_ so it all makes perfect sense now… he'd lock me up and throw away the key!"

"We'll think of something. If it becomes really necessary _I'll_ talk to him."

"Great! Maybe they'll give you the next padded cell along. You could bring mom – we'll have a party!"

"Skye… calm down," he said, going over to her and grasping her hands.

"But that's not the best thing… he knew about what went on in freshman year and they _promised_ me that wouldn't go on my record… they _promised_!"

Giles looked at her questioningly but she pulled away from him.

"I'm sorry; I just wasn't expecting all of that. Don't worry, it'll be fine. I can handle Ruben Kreitzer," she said through gritted teeth.

Giles sat nursing a glass of scotch, wishing that Willow was there. Quite aside from missing her humour and unique perspective on the most disastrous of situations, she'd have known how to get into the university records system to pull Skye's student file. He hadn't wanted to push her, she'd clearly dealt with enough for one day, but he couldn't help but be curious about what she'd said. Obviously something serious had happened when she was pre-med, but what?

He downed the remainder of the scotch, feeling it warm a path to his stomach. It had been a long time since he'd stayed up all night. He'd said to Frankie that he would follow her to bed four hours and three glasses of scotch ago, but there was no way he could have slept. He tried to distract himself with the address he hadn't yet written and the social nightmare that awaited him at the home of East Coast Freemasonry, but not even visions of dripping claret on the most prized of the libraries acquisitions could yank his mind from contemplating his daughter's uncertain future.

Skye walked into Ruben's office without knocking. He looked up from the document he was reading at his desk and smiled.

"Hey Skye. Take a seat; I'll be right with you." He resumed reading.

She'd hoped to piss him off, but apparently it was going to take more than a slip in etiquette. Sitting down she examined the office walls, hoping to find a clue as to what made this guy tick: know your enemy – first rule of the game.

Ruben dropped the piece of paper and closed the folder before getting up and taking a seat opposite Skye.

"I thought we'd talk about what happened in freshman year?" Skye began, wanting to take control of the conversation before Ruben could.

"I thought we'd talk about why you were prescribing yourself an antipsychotic."

"_I _thought this unit has a client-led approach?"

"We do."

"Then surely I say what we talk about?"

"Normally yes, but… no. Skye, you broke the law, we're going to talk about why you did that."

Skye looked away. Her plan wasn't working out so well.

"Why _were_ you taking an antipsychotic?"

She shrugged. "I was having nightmares."

"We can sit here all day, Skye…"

"…I said it was because I was having nightmares, I thought they'd help."

"I was just reading your psyche rotation report. Very impressive… very impressive treatment plans. Your supervisor wrote that you must have a photographic memory because your knowledge of drug usage is so extensive. So, why were you using Olanzapine?"

"I told you."

Ruben stared at Skye.

"Do I strike you as being psychotic, Ruben?"

"You strike me as being scared."

"I was having nightmares."

"Waking nightmares?"

Skye closed her eyes and felt her throat dry up. Admitting to that was like watching her medical licence go up in flames, but she'd thought and thought and could not come up with any other reason as to why she'd be taking that kind of medication. She was damned by the evidence. She heard Ruben getting up out of his seat, but if she just kept her eyes closed for long enough, the scene would change and this would all be one great big nightmare—a vampire-less one at that. Feeling a hand on her arm, she was forced to look up. Ruben held out a mug to her which she accepted without question. Skye sipped the sweet black tea and took temporary solace in its comforting aroma. Ruben had retaken his seat and was watching her.

"Is it still happening?" he asked.

Skye shook her head.

"Sometimes when we're under particular stress our mind tries to protect itself by projecting all our negative feelings onto an imagined external reality. I think that's something like what's been happening with you since you were quite young. Am I right?"

"No… yes… I don't know." She didn't know anymore, she didn't _know_ anything anymore. "I thought I understood the world… I thought I knew how things worked… but then I find out it's not how I thought and two and two don't make four because there's this invisible term in the equation that I thought only existed in my nightmares… but the world isn't this…" she patted the arm of the chair with the flat of her palm, as much to make contact with the world of matter as to prove her point. "And I don't know how life works in a world where the physical universe is so tremendously trivial and… and… the things that you never dreamed could exist are more profoundly real than this world of atoms and particles." She wasn't making any sense, but she didn't care. There was so much she wanted to say but there were no coherent words that could express it. Two worlds were colliding in her head and it felt as if she was going to implode like a dying sun. "I don't know what's _real _anymore." She looked up at Ruben who held her gaze. In that moment, Skye experienced a sense of connection with the stranger that she had been desperate, but unable, to share with her fiancé, mother or father. She had begun to feel radically separate from her family and friends, to such an extent that she had thought to never again feel herself to be a part of the world. But in that moment, with the guy she had termed her _professional nemesis_, she felt something familiar and homely. He might think her psychotic or deranged, but at least he'd still see her as a human being, not a _slayer_.

"How's your tea?" he asked, smiling suddenly.

"Umm… great, thanks," she replied, beginning to connect with her surroundings after the short sojourn into her thoughts.

"You wanted to talk about freshman year?"

Not really, she thought.

Giles winced as Skye's right foot made contact with his chest, sending him flat on his back – the padding didn't really help. She was unpredictable, which could've been her strength, if she didn't fight so much like a wounded animal rather than a trained warrior. It worried him for reasons he couldn't put his finger on. Maybe it was because her style of combat reminded him of Faith's and not Buffy's: unruly, brutal, careless, but bloody powerful nonetheless. Lackadaisical she might be, but he'd not bettered her once since the first day. She did listen to him, she even asked him questions but as soon as nature took over, thought and training took a back seat and her style resumed its untamed brutality. She fought him like she was battling for life; goodness knows what she'd be like in a real combat situation.

Skye held out her hand to Giles and pulled him up from the floor. She shot him a smile before turning away and pulling off her fingerless gloves.

"You never said how it went," Giles said, pulling at the Velcro strips on his padded vest.

"How what went?"

"Your appointment." She knew very well what he meant.

"He still thinks I'm a lunatic."

Giles leaned against the wall, still feeling her last blow echoing around his chest cavity. He didn't want to pry, but he did want to know how she'd explained her drug taking without using the word slayer.

"Is he a good psychiatrist?"

"You mean, can I give him the run around?" she asked, pulling on her Jacket.

"I suppose I do."

"He's a very good psychiatrist."

Giles' imagination conjured a family room in the psychiatric ward where they could sit and talk about the forces of the demonic in between drug induced hazes of 'normality'. Maybe it was an ideal situation, not as if reality held anything other than violence and death. "How did you explain taking the drugs?" he heard himself ask.

"I told him the truth," she replied, pulling on her Jacket.

"What?"

"He asked if I have been… seeing things… and I said yes."

Giles stared at her. If she was playing some game it was a very dangerous one – Buffy had told him what had happened when she was an inpatient at a psychiatric hospital. Skye was being unnervingly calm and she had resorted to a brand of flippancy that wasn't in her nature. He really did need to keep an eye on her. It wasn't unusual for new slayers to start taking stupid risks because of mistakenly thinking themselves immortal or at least invulnerable.

"Was that wise, Skye?"

"How else do you think I should deal with this?"

"I don't know, but it seems a risky course of action."

"Isn't that just like life," she said, swinging her bag over her shoulder. "I'll be back late. Don't bother waiting up."

"Hold on, where are you going?" But she was gone before he had finished, leaving the door to slam behind her. "Damn," he muttered, running his hand through his hair. He felt like things were speeding out of his control. He wanted to take her away from New York, give her time to think things through, to process what she was becoming, no, what she already was. Maybe he could take her back to England for a couple of weeks, show her Oxford and Bath. He was sure she'd enjoy it, but equally sure that she would be unwilling to leave. It struck him that after a quiet chat with her psychiatrist he might be willing to persuade her to take a month out, but, was that interfering? Damned right it was interfering, and that's exactly what he wanted to do; he wanted to control her life, just until she was coping better. Giles shook his head and wondered if this was how his father had felt when he had gone off the rails. What did he do? He left me to it, Giles thought, recalling his father's reaction to the Eyghon incident. He didn't crowd me, but left me to make my own decisions and deal with the mess in my own way. That's what he'd have to do for the time being, but if matters escalated then he would consider talking to this Kreitzer. Until then, he had an address to write on the wonders of a fifth century book of hours. Giles grabbed his sweatshirt and headed up to his office, hoping that his muse would bestow the gift of concentration, if not inspiration.

Skye took a taxi across town, directing the driver to stop in what had to be the worst of all neighbourhoods. After paying, she got out and looked around. This is perfect, she thought. Checking that the stake she had taken from her father's weapons bag was still tucked in her belt, she started down the sidewalk. It was incredible that neighbourhoods like this one still existed, despite the march of gentrification that had seen the worst of the dilapidated housing pulled down. You could smell the poverty, rats and drugs. A telltale marking on a street sign highlighted the fact that she was in gang territory, but that didn't bother her.

Dusk was settling like grey sand on the damp street. Sundown. She threw a glance behind her, thinking that she heard movement, but her stalker was feline. The creature's green eyes surveyed her own from behind a mask of black fur. After weighing up one another, they both decided to go their separate ways; after all, hunting is a solitary occupation.

Feeling a tingle on the back of her neck, Skye turned down a deserted alley. The sound of the city traffic faded and was overtaken by the thumping of her own heartbeat. This was it. She turned to see a man standing a couple of feet away from her. His face was in shadow but she was somehow certain that he didn't intend to steal her purse. Planting her feet squarely, she discreetly felt for the end of the stake, her fingers curling around the polished wood hidden beneath her Jacket. The figure moved casually towards her, he didn't seem to be in any kind of hurry. He halted in a pool of light and stared at her. He was taller than her, and broad. Tall, dark and brooding, she thought. Oh well, she didn't care what he'd once looked like, she knew that when they fought it would be a different picture, just like it had been with the boy.

"Looking for someone?" he asked.

Skye swallowed; she hadn't expected conversation. "Depends on what you mean."

"I was wondering what a nice girl like you was doing wandering around this part of town..."

"I don't think that's any of your business."

"So I got to thinking, that _maybe_ you're looking for some action."

Skye felt the muscles in her shoulders tense, but hoped that it didn't show. "What kind of action?"

"Well you're not dressed for business," he began, starting to move towards her. "And you don't look like you're looking for a dealer." Skye thought about the prescription pad sat in her briefcase at home, who needed dealers? "And you don't look lost."

"Oh I know where I am," Skye replied, watching the guy as he started to circle behind her. He came to a halt directly in front of her, looking straight into her eyes.

"But there's something familiar about you," he continued, unblinkingly.

"I don't think we know each other." Come on, you bastard, she thought, clutching the stake tighter.

"No, I don't think we do. You're Giles' daughter, right?"

"What!" Her mouth fell open and she let go of the stake. "Who the hell are you?"

The guy smiled and shrugged. "An old… _friend_ of your father's."

Skye rolled her eyes. "Did he ask you to follow me?"

"No. I haven't spoken to him. I only arrived in town last night."

"Oh. Then… how did you know who I was?"

"You smell like him," he replied, his lips curling slightly.

"I _smell_ like him! Who…" she looked at him and her hand automatically reached for the stake. Grabbing it she pulled it out of her belt and thrust it toward his chest. He was quicker. His hand grasped her wrist and yanked it behind her.

"Take it easy!" he said, pushing her arm a little further up her back. "You wanna watch where you point those things."

Skye kicked back, sending him reeling into the wall behind. Following, she stood over him, holding the stake ready to strike. "Who are you?"

"Angel. Your dad never talk about me?" he groaned.

Skye looked around the dingy smoke-filled bar, trying to keep any part of her skin from touching any part of the filthy furnishings. Angel took the seat opposite her, pushing a bottle of beer towards her.

"Thanks," she said, taking it and carefully wiping the lip of the bottle on her sleeve.

She looked him over. He didn't look like a vampire, even if he did have a soul. A vampire with a soul - how was that possible? It seemed that every time she started to readjust her worldview, the world shifted on its axis once more. Talk about a tragic character. She'd always gone for the brooding types. Martin knew how to brood; he was doing a fair amount of it recently. Yes, _Martin_, she reminded herself, I am engaged, and I really shouldn't be entertaining thoughts of what this guy looks like with his shirt off.

"Does your dad know what you're doing?"

"Hmm?" his question pulled her away from a dangerous line of contemplation.

"Does your dad know that you're patrolling?"

He made it sound like she was working for the NYPD. "He's my father, not my parole officer," she replied acerbically.

"I'll take that as a no," he smirked.

He wasn't drinking his beer. Skye wondered if he did indeed drink anything other than blood. She frowned, where _did_ he get his blood from?

"How long have you known?"

"About him being my father?"

"No, about being a slayer."

"Oh," she faltered, feeling like a total rooky. "Not that long." She swigged her beer, wow that tasted good. She gulped down more before putting the bottle down and meeting his eyes. "How long have you been dead?"

"Technically, it's _undead_…"

"…Whatever. How long?"

"A long time."

"And you were cursed?"

"Yeah."

"Wow, you must have really pissed off some girl."

"I tend to do that." He smiled almost bashfully. God he was cute.

"I'm a doctor," she blurted, though not entirely sure why. "I mean that's what I really do."

"Giles must be proud of you."

"I'm not so sure, I think this slayer thing has got everyone pretty freaked," she replied, with a faint smile.

"What about you? Has it got you freaked?" he asked, not releasing her from his gaze.

Skye swallowed more beer, if only to give her an excuse to look away. At that moment her cell beeped. She grabbed it out of her pocket and looked at the screen - home calling. She rejected the call and then pressed the off button. "Fancy another beer?" she asked, getting up. Angel looked up and shook his head. She went over to the bar and caught the eye of the barmaid who fetched her a bottle. This place isn't so bad, she thought, observing the crowd of bikers in the corner. Bit rough, but generally friendly – a bit like the ER on a Friday night. She returned to her seat, and to Angel's steady gaze.

"You never answered my question."

Skye sighed and shook her head. "Listen, I already have a shrink _and _a father figure. No offence, but that's enough for anyone." She downed half of the second bottle of beer in one go and had to admit, she was starting to feel better.

Giles opened the door and blinked.

"Angel, what are you doing…?" a rush of mild anxiety causing the words to stick in his throat.

"Hi dad!" Skye grinned, pushing her way past him. "I brought an old friend to see you."

Giles looked back to Angel who was looking decidedly sheepish. No sign of Angelus.

"Come on then," Skye called over Giles' shoulder.

"You need to invite me."

"Oh yeah, that's right!" she giggled. Giles caught a whiff of alcohol on her breath and turned to look at her. She was definitely drunk. "I wanna see what happens when you try to get in."

Angel rolled his eyes before taking a step forward, only to be thrown backwards, causing Skye to giggle hysterically.

"Come in, Angel," Giles muttered, putting a hand under Skye's elbow to stop her from toppling over.

Giles steered Skye into the lounge, sitting her down on the sofa. She immediately got up again, announcing that she wanted another drink, and began noisily examining the bottles on the drinks cabinet.

Giles looked questioningly at Angel. "What are you doing here and what were you doing with my daughter?"

"I came on a lead and just happened to run into Skye while she was… patrolling," he finished quietly so Skye wouldn't hear him.

Giles momentarily closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over his face. This was exactly what he had feared. She wasn't ready.

"I'm sorry about the drunken thing, she really hasn't had that much," Angel apologised.

"She doesn't normally drink at all." Giles turned to see Skye throw half a glass of amber liquid down her throat. "Hey! I think you've had quite enough," he said, grabbing the crystal tumbler from her hand. She looked at him and blinked her big green eyes as if trying to focus.

"I'm sorry, dad," she mumbled, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Shhh… sorry for what?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her. When she didn't reply, Giles looked up at Angel. "I'd better get her into bed."

Angel nodded and took a seat. Giles slowly guided Skye up the stairs, managing to keep her upright even though she missed a couple of steps. He pushed open the door to the spare bedroom and flicked on the bedside lamp. After having persuaded her to sit down, he pulled off her bag and Jacket and spotted the stake tucked into the waist of her jeans. He tried to take it, but she grabbed it back from him.

"I need that," she muttered, pushing it under the pillow.

Giles said nothing, but continued to pull off her shoes and then encouraged her to lie down. He watched her as she pulled the stake to her and nursed it like it was her favourite teddy bear.

When Giles returned to the lounge, Angel was examining the photographs on the mantelpiece. It made Giles nervous. He didn't like the idea of Angel knowing his family. He was unable to stop himself from shuddering with disgust as predictable memories of Angelus' recreational activities played in his head. He would never be able to separate Angel from those deeds in the way that Buffy had so easily done. Ghandi might well have been right in saying that it was the weak that could never forgive, but when it came to Angel, Giles was happy to remain paradoxically strong. The worst thing was the fact that Angel was the only one who seemed to understand. But then again, maybe that was because he was the only one that knew the sum total of what had passed between them.

Angel turned and looked uncharacteristically nervous. "I really didn't go looking for her."

Giles shook his head and sat down. "It's okay—I'm glad it was you who found her rather than… What _are_ you doing in here?"

Angel shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "I was told that there was a gathering of The Potor due to happen in town."

"I thought they were all but wiped out."

"They were. It seems that there's one branch left and they're planning a reunion under the auspices of some charity benefit."

Giles groaned and collapsed back against the sofa. "At the Masonic Lodge on Fourth Street."

"Yeah how did you…"

"I'm the entertainment."

Angel cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm giving an address on behalf of the Library. Wouldn't you bloody know it!"

"Look, Giles, I can handle this by myself. I didn't intend to involve you. Just go to your benefit and pretend we didn't have this conversation."

"You're sure there aren't many of them?"

"My sources say there are three, very old members, that haven't seen any action for the last fifty years. If it wasn't for the prophecy, I wouldn't have bothered making the trip myself."

"D'you know I never really believed that they were linked with the Masons, but it just goes to show that one should never entirely dismiss gossip. What if it's a bigger gathering than you expect? Or if they have company?"

Angel shrugged. "Then I'll have to wait for the next gathering."

"And if you get into difficulties? Or if this thing is going to spill out into the main party?"

"I'll call you."

"You'll call me?"

"You do still have a cell phone, don't you?"

"Oh… er… yes. I never imagined that you'd have one though."

"Not allowed to leave home without it."

"Blasted things. Still, they come in useful from time to time."

Angel nodded. They fell into an uneasy silence.

"It must worry you, Skye being a slayer," Angel said after a while.

Giles nodded. "I can't say it's easy for any of us, especially Skye."

"She's doing a lot better than some."

"I know that." Giles couldn't help feel irritated that Angel should feel in a position to pass judgement on his daughter.

"She's a really great girl. I like her a lot."

Giles glared. "She's to have nothing to do with this, do you understand me?"

Angel nodded.

"She's… she's… not ready. I won't have her being dragged into something she's not able to deal with."

"I'll keep her out of it. But I get the impression she pretty much does what she wants."

"I'll decide when she's ready for active duty," Giles seethed.

"I know she's your daughter, but you can't keep her locked up. She's better than you think she is. One second delay and I'd have been dust."

"And oh how I'd have mourned," Giles muttered. He looked up into Angel's pained expression. He'd meant it, but he shouldn't have said it. Angel looked away and made movement toward the door.

"Angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for bringing her home."

Angel nodded and disappeared around the door.

The world seemed a blurry and painful place when at last Skye opened her eyes. Was she sick? She hadn't felt this bad since she was a kid and she'd got that virus that knocked out for three weeks straight. She closed her eyes again and hoped it would go away. Not a chance. Skye sat up and rubbed her forehead, a wave a nausea hitting her. Migraine? Then she remembered the bar and groaned. Forcing herself out of bed, she stumbled down to the kitchen in search of coffee and Advil.

Martin was sitting at the kitchen table, reviewing the sports pages.

"Hey," he said, looking up, "you're awake."

Skye groaned and poured herself a coffee.

"Ahh… awake _and_ suffering. Good."

"Thanks! Uhhh… It's no good; I'm going back to bed."

Martin caught hold of Sky and pulled her to him. She nestled her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes while Martin ran his hands down her back in long strokes, as if he were taming a big cat.

"I'm about to head up there myself. Why don't you come with me?"

Skye looked up at Martin, questioningly.

"Your dad said that you didn't dream last night, and he didn't get to do the whole crystal routine." Martin smiled. "So maybe we could risk sharing a bed? You know I don't sleep properly when I'm on the nightshift so I'll know if I'm likely to have to fight you off."

Skye stared into Martin's eyes. She could tell he was worried about something, but it wouldn't be anything obvious. He could be a closed book when he chose.

"I'd like that," she smiled, tugging him from the stool.

In the back of Skye's mind was a nagging voice, telling her she was supposed to be somewhere, but she dismissed it as 'shouldn't I be in work?' paranoia. She had hours before her dad's introduction to the world of the New York high society. The only other thing she could think of was the vague idea of a trip to the salon, but instead, she crawled into bed and warmed herself against Martin. The heat that emanated from him was so comforting that she soon forgot the pounding in her head. You'd never get this off a vampire, she thought as she drifted into semi-consciousness, even a vampire with a soul.

Skye sat up suddenly. "Damn!"

Martin rubbed his eyes and yawned. "What is it?"

"Ruben… I missed my appointment."

"I'll call him and tell him you're sick," Martin replied, dragging himself from bed.

"I guess I'd better take a shower and contemplate getting ready for this library benefit thing," she sighed, rolling onto her side to watch Martin hunt for the phone. She wondered whether it was her imagination or if Martin had some how managed to fit in extra sessions at the gym. The vein that ran down the length of his bicep seemed a little more prominent than it usually did as he straightened and flexed his arm rummaging through a pile of clothes.

"What should I say is wrong with you?" he asked, as he located the phone.

"Ummm… virus?"

"Right - virus brought on by excessive alcohol consumption." He grinned at her and ducked into the hallway.

Giles stood in front of the mirror, agitatedly fussing with his bowtie. He liked bowties, and more to the point, more than one woman had commented how they suited him, but bloody hell were they fiddly. Finally, he took his fingers away and stared at his reflection, brushing a fleck of dust from his lapel. His foray into narcissism was cut short by a moment of panic, which was itself allayed by his fingers feeling his inside pocket, ensuring that the four sheets of paper that held his address were indeed safely about his person. It had been an honour to be invited to give the address. _Had_. The practicality of addressing a room full of the Manhattan's wealthiest and most influential people had drained all the honour from it, let alone the thought of Angel's undertaking, which had left him with a mild case of acidic anxiety. He again smoothed down his Jacket before turning away from his reflection and heading downstairs. Catching sight of Frankie checking her hair in the hallway mirror made him stop and smile. She was more nervous than he was, and for some reason that made him feel better. He walked behind her, leant down and kissed her neck before grinning at her reflection.

"Stop faffing about woman! Your hair looks fine."

Frankie raised an eyebrow. "You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet, Ripper."

"Are you… are you being sarcastic?" he asked, in mock hurt tones.

"And you're a monumentally bad actor."

Giles' hand went to his chest as if he were wounded. Frankie turned and rolled her eyes at him.

"Once a ham, always a ham."

"Oh ha, ha, ha!" Giles grinned, very obviously looking her over.

"So?"

"So what? Ohhh… the dress…?"

"…I swear I'm going to…"

"…You look stunning."

Frankie smiled. "You're off the hook—for the moment."

"These damn shoes are going to cripple me," Skye announced from midway down the last flight of stairs. "I hope there'll be lots of opportunities for sitting down."

"Don't worry honey, I have it on good authority that there will be at least one very long and extremely dull lecture."

Giles poked Frankie between the ribs and shared a grin with her before they both turned to face Skye.

Skye looked at her parents and frowned. "What?"

Giles and Frankie exchanged glances before looking back at her.

"_What?_"

"You're proposing to go out in that?" Giles asked.

Skye looked down. "What's wrong with it? Too formal?"

Giles smirked. "There's not nearly enough of it. We'll wait while you change."

"Rupert!" Frankie grinned, nudging him.

"Can't she at least wear something around her… her…" he waved his hand around his chest.

"Don't try playing the repressive Victorian father with me, _Ripper_," Skye said, tugging at the strapless shot silk until it was as far as it was going to go. "Besides, I have a shawl, for outside." She picked up a length of the same brown-silver material that seemed made to pick out the ash brown tones of her hair and put it around her shoulders. "See?"

Giles took a step forward and kissed her cheek whilst pulling the shawl around her. "You look beautiful," he said. "Darling, do we have some sort of pin to…"

"Dad!" Skye giggled. "Give it up!"

Skye did feel somewhat like a Victorian woman as they entered the highly ornate Lodge that's splendour had been heightened by the addition of masses of red festoons and flamboyant flower arrangements. She stared around, drinking in the richness of the assembled great and good. This was an old style event laid on by even older money. She could almost smell the difference between this and the glitzy celebrity-laden events she had on occasion attended with her mother. Fine crystal tinkled over the string quartet that was playing from a makeshift stage in the corner of the hall. She leaned in and whispered to her mother, asking what it was they were playing. Sibelius, she was informed in a tone that suggested Skye's cultural education was sorely lacking. Skye sighed. Between her mother's encyclopaedic knowledge of music and her father's grasp of things she had never known existed, she did quite often feel like the dumb scientist. She shrugged. Ah well, you can't know everything, she told herself, whilst mentally running through the list of muscles to be found in the human face, just to prove to herself that she did know _something_. Her mother and father were busy talking to some guy about a current exhibition at the Met that she was less than interested in. But that was okay, she was happy to take it all in. She began a game of 'spot the property tycoon,' which was interrupted by the arrival of a waiter bearing champagne. The sweet smell of fermented grapes was enough to make her stomach churn and so she asked where she might find something _non_-alcoholic. She was directed to the bar, and so wandered through the throng of diamond wearing, ex-sorority girls and their Brylcreemed millionaire husbands. Picking up a glass of orange juice she again scanned the room, vaguely wishing she'd paid more attention to the society pages. A familiar face almost made her spill her drink.

"Shit," she murmured loud enough for a bartender to hear. He grinned at her but carried on polishing a glass without comment.

Ruben Kreitzer was standing not ten feet away, having an animated conversation with a group of women. What the hell was he doing at a bash like this! She sighed and began to plot avoidance tactics until she felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. She glanced around.

"What the…?"

As two women moved to the side, they revealed the back of a man who also seemed strangely familiar. He was causing quite a stir amongst one group of diamond frosted socialites who were whispering and shooting glances at him over their cosmopolitans. The guy turned around slowly, as if he sensed her gaze.

"Angel," she whispered.

He smiled and walked over to her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, looking around and feeling strangely worried that someone would see her having a conversation with a vampire. "Does dad know?" she pressed when he merely grinned.

Angel nodded. "How was your head this morning?"

"Does this have something to do with why you're in town?"

Angel took Skye's arm and began leading her in exactly the direction she did _not_ want to go. She stopped and tugged her arm from his.

"We can't talk here."

Skye's eyes scrutinized the sea of heads, but Ruben had disappeared into the crowd. "Okay," she said, beginning to weave her way to the corner of the room. As soon as she got away from the bulk of people she turned on Angel. "Now what in hell's name is going on?"

Angel smirked. "You're very… _tall_."

"I have stiletto heeled shoes on—which are _not_ worth the agony by the way—but that's beside the point! Why are _you_ skulking around _here_?"

"I think you were the one who was _skulking_. _I_ was enjoying the party."

Skye glared. "Angel…"

"Okay," he grinned. "Yes, I'm here on business, but I'm keeping Giles out of it which means _you_ too missy."

"What kind of business? What could possibly be going on here?" she scoffed, glancing around. "The only people who'd get any action round here are the style police," she said, screwing her face up as a woman brushed past wearing a bright pink number that was at very least two sizes too small for her.

Angel snorted and put his hand over his mouth.

"What?"

"Slayers."

"What about slayers? And… _come on_… let me back you up. Dad won't even notice I'm gone."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you and your father have to live in this town and I don't. It's safer this way, for…" Angel stared over her shoulder "…for _all_ of us."

Skye looked around to see her father staring at them. He did not look at all happy, in fact he looked livid. He motioned with a slight nod of his head that she should join him. She sighed; he was treating her like a five year old again. She turned to say as much to Angel but he had vanished. Skye snorted. "Fine, be like that," she muttered as she started back towards her stony-faced father. She could tell it was going to be a _great_ night.

As if things couldn't get any worse, as she was approaching Giles with a few choice words in mind, someone touched her arm.

"Skye! You're looking… _well_."

Skye gulped before looking up. She had been so annoyed with her father that she'd forgotten to keep her eyes peeled for Ruben.

"Yeah. Sorry about missing my appointment." Skye blushed as she met his amused gaze.

"It's not my time you're wasting, but you already know that."

"Er humn." Skye heard her father clear his throat behind her.

"Dad, this is Professor Kreitzer," she said without turning. "This is my father, Rupert Giles."

She folded her arms and stared at the floor as the two men shook hands.

"Call me Ruben."

"Rupert." Giles turned to Skye. "Your mother was wondering where you'd got to," he said in the most casual of tones. Like hell she was, Skye thought, trying to control any visible sign of temper. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. God, she wanted to hit him.

"Fine." Skye seethed. "I'll be in touch to reschedule the appointment, Ruben. Have a nice evening," she said, trying to force a smile for Ruben.

Ruben nodded. "You too."

Skye stalked away, the glamour of the party seemingly dampened by her increasingly bad mood.

Giles watched Skye walk away, knowing that she was annoyed with him, but not altogether caring. He didn't like that she seemed to be taking such an interest in Angel, and he in her.

"Skye doesn't like being told what to do," Ruben said, sipping his champagne.

"I'm rather afraid she gets that from me," Giles replied, smiling. "Um, how _is_ she doing, in your opinion?"

Ruben swished the champagne around his glass. "My _professional _opinion? Because you must know I can't discuss that with you."

"Then give me your unprofessional opinion," Giles raised his eyebrows.

Ruben returned his smile. "She's a great kid—smart, funny. She has a promising career ahead of her…"

"But you're not letting her back on the wards?"

"I'm not convinced it's in her best interests. Are you?"

The smile dropped from his lips as he shook his head. He felt disloyal. If Skye knew he had just agreed that she wasn't stable enough to cope with the stress of work, then she would think him disloyal too, along with a few other things.

"You're worried about her, I understand that. But we're very early into the process. It takes time to build up the necessary level of trust. I know there are things that she doesn't yet feel able to talk to me about. If you have any influence over her at all, which I think you do, it'd help if you'd encourage her to open up because I don't see us getting anywhere until that happens."

And if she did tell you what was going on in her life you'd lock her up for a good long time, Giles thought. He rubbed the back of his neck were a knot of tension was growing.

"And if I told you she was coping well in very trying circumstances?" Giles asked, attempting to redeem himself.

"Then I'd ask what circumstances you thought they were… Or rather, I'd like to have _her_ to tell me that."

Giles smiled at Ruben and shook his head. He realised it was impossible for them to have this conversation.

"I wouldn't normally say this, but I get the impression that you are the only person really in a position to judge Skye's state of mind." Ruben fished in his pocket and drew out a business card which he handed to Giles. "If you get worried that things are getting out of hand, or if you decide that, in the circumstances you need to tell me about what's going on in her life, then give me a call."

Giles nodded, turning the cream-coloured business card over in his fingers.

"And if she never tells you?"

"Then I think we reach what they term in analysis, a therapy impasse." Ruben held out his hand, which Giles took. "It was good to meet you, Rupert."

Ruben rejoined a dark-haired woman who giggled and put an arm around his back. An impasse indeed, Giles thought.

Giles had just found Frankie and Skye, when he was intercepted by one of the trustees telling him that it was time for him to take the podium.

"I'll find us seats, mom," Skye said, starting to walk away, having avoided making eye contact with Giles. He sighed, the sudden rush of adrenalin smothered by the depressing weight of his daughter's anger. Running his fingers through his hair, his gaze dropped to the black and white tiled floor. After a moment of self pity he felt a hand on his arm, making him look up.

Skye half-smiled and kissed his cheek. "Good luck, dad."

Giles gathered her into his arms and hugged her, kissing her forehead.

Skye grinned and pulled away from him. "Go get 'em," she mimed before taking a seat.

Frankie rolled her eyes at Giles who found himself grinning.

"You're too alike," she said, tugging at the lapels of his Jacket.

"I know."

She examined his face. "No need to ask you how you're feeling."

"Rather like a Christian about to be thrown into the amphitheatre," he snorted.

"No one could ever accuse you of that, dear."

Giles chuckled. "Maybe you should pray for me."

"Who needs God when you've got brains and charm on your side?"

"As I was saying…"

"…You'll do great." She kissed him before he could talk himself out of the building.

Ruben Kreitzer was sitting at the bar, listening to the speeches from afar, but not far enough. Skye's father had given about the best so far – at least _he'd_ seemed to know what he was talking about; he'd also had the good sense to keep it short and put in the odd medieval joke to keep the audience entertained. The guy who was currently holding court was obviously there for one reason alone: to make you put your hand in your pocket to get him to _shut up_. Ruben would have made a run for it other than his wife, Melissa, was on the board of trustees and so he had to be _seen_ to be giving his support. He wondered whether it would cause unfathomable amounts of trouble if he were to slip out to the bar across the street to check how the Nicks' were doing. But who knew how many weeks in the dog house that one would earn him.

The downside of being a psychiatrist was that everyone, including (no, _especially_) Melissa, expected him to be a mind reader, and a mind reader he most definitely was not. Hell, he didn't understand his phone messages half the time, let alone the whole swathe of human behaviour. Skye Pearson-Giles was his current number one reason for remaining professionally humble. At any one time he always seemed to have one on his books that troubled the hell out of him, and at the moment, she was _it_. If anyone saw her file they'd probably make a rough diagnosis of borderline schizophrenia, but then when you met her, spent time with her, it just didn't fit. She had problems alright, but he suspected them to be psychological rather than psychiatric. She was a healthy, if not slightly mixed up kid, who probably thought too much. Ruben scanned the rows of seats looking for her. He saw her getting up, ostensibly to go to the ladies room he suspected, but really to get away from the drone emanating from the platform. He was right. She got to the edge of hall, looked around, but then did a curious thing: she took her shoes off, slipped them under a table and set off in the opposite direction to the rest rooms. It struck him that she might know of somewhere the game was being screened; she was after all a sports fan. He told himself that as long as he didn't leave the building, Melissa couldn't complain. He got up and followed Skye.

Ruben had to jog to catch up with her as she slipped around a corner into a darkened corridor. Strange, he thought, but maybe it's the way to the kitchens. She stopped and listened at a door before pushing it open and disappearing around it. When Ruben caught up he realised it was the stairwell. He was beginning to think that maybe she wasn't seeking out the Nicks' score after all, but he was intrigued and so he quietly eased open the door. A shadow moving on the wall told him that she'd gone up and so he took to the stairs, wishing that he'd worn his other dress shoes that didn't squeak quite as much. Hearing the soft thump of a door closing, he took the stairs two at a time, fearing that he would lose her. It crossed Ruben's mind that his behaviour was highly unprofessional – stalking a client – but it was too late to turn back now that the bit was firmly between his teeth.

Reaching the top floor he cracked open the door and listened. Big band music was drifting down the hallway. It sounded like someone had got bored with the party below and had sneaked up here with a few bottles of champagne. Fantastic! He opened the door and followed the music to the right. Beginning to feel like a TV detective, he stopped at the corner and peeped around. On seeing Skye having an animated conversation with a tall dark guy he'd seen downstairs earlier, he flattened himself back against the wall. They were _whispering_, but it was the kind of whispering people did when they were drunk, the sort that was actually louder than normal speech. He realised it was because they were arguing.

"Go back downstairs right now," the guy was telling her.

"No. I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not!"

"Fine."

"Giles'd kill me if he knew… _what?_"

"I said fine…"

"Oh, right. That's good."

"… You get on and do what you need to do and _I'll_ do the same."

"What? _No!_"

"Did you give Buffy orders?"

"Sometimes."

"Did she ever listen?"

"No… but that was different, she was… y'know…"

"Better?"

"No!"

"Expendable?"

"No."

"But it was still okay for her? I was under the impression that dad used to send her out to fight by herself all the time."

Ruben's eyebrows flew up. He did?

"Yes but…"

"Then what the _fuck_ is the difference! She was _fucking_ fifteen, I have ten years on her but everyone's treating _me_ like a _fucking_ kid!"

"I hope you don't use language like that in front of Giles—forget it, someone's coming..."

Hearing their footsteps heading in his direction, Ruben bolted back down the corridor and tried the first door he came across. It opened onto an office which he dived into and quickly shut the door. Panicked by the thought that they, or whoever they were in fear of being caught by, would walk in, he squatted behind the desk. His heart was thumping in his chest, but not loud enough to give him away he hoped. He remained crouching in the darkness for a good five minutes before coming to the realisation that both parties must have gone on by.

He had hold of her hand was pulling her down the corridor. Angel could say what he liked, but as far as Skye was concerned, she was staying. He yanked her into what appeared to be a store cupboard, closed the door and put his finger to his lips before she could say anything. She glanced around, just about able to make out the shapes of bottles of cleaning products in what little light was coming in from the small window. After listening intently for a few seconds, Angel turned on her… quite literally. Skye gasped and took a step back, almost stumbling over a broom.

Angel sighed and looked away. "Go back to the party, Skye."

"No! You just caught me off guard. Why did you do that—to _scare_ me?"

"It happens sometimes when I get mad."

"It's amazing."

"What?" Angel turned back to her, a look of disbelief on his all too well-formed human face.

Skye couldn't stop herself from reaching up and running her fingers over his now smooth brow line. "I guess it must be an intense muscle contraction. I've been trying to work out the physiology, but there's no real precedent for it in nature."

"That's because it's not natural." Angel caught hold of her hand. "I'm not sick. I have a demon inside of me."

Skye nodded and pulled her hand away from him.

"Now go back to the party."

"No…"

"…Stop trying so damned hard to prove yourself! At _this_ rate you'll end up a… physiological side-show soon enough." He turned and opened the door. "Giles'll have noticed you're gone; you'd better get down there before he comes looking for you. You don't want _his_ blood on your hands." With that he walked out and let the door swing closed behind him.

Skye sighed and bit her lip. He was right. While she was desperately tying to prove to them that she was a worthy slayer, she had been recklessly endangering them all. It finally hit home to her that this probably wasn't the best way of gaining he father's approval. But it was so important to her – to be as good as Buffy, no, to be _better_ than Buffy. Skye wanted to prove that she was the very best slayer, the very best _daughter_. Dizzy with the shame she felt at her childish conceit, she opened the door, walked straight into the corridor and straight into Ruben Kreitzer.

He grasped her shoulder and gulped back a breath. "They've got your friend."

For a second she couldn't move. _You don't want his blood on your hands_.

"Where?"

Ruben pointed down the corridor. "That way. We have to call the police."

Skye shook her head, trying to think. "No… no police. You have to get to my dad and tell him that _Angel_ is in trouble. You got that?"

"Angel… right. What are _you_ gonna do?" Ruben frowned.

"I don't know. I have to help him." Skye started to walk away but Ruben grabbed her arm.

"Wait… you don't understand… there were…"

"…No, _you _don't understand. I'm a slayer. I have to do this." She pulled away from him and started running.

It was the inner sanctum of the Masonic temple. Angel had been forced to his knees and was being held there by the vampire equivalents of _Mr T_ and _The_ _Incredible Hulk_. Three white-gloved, stooped old men (who could have been somebody's grandpas, if they weren't holding champagne flutes that looked to be filled with blood) were standing grinning at Angel. Skye scanned the rest of the room for possible weapons from behind the red velvet curtain that hung across the arched doorway. There was plenty of antique furniture around; she'd just have to improvise. So all she was short of was a plan. When none was forthcoming, she took a deep breath and stepped around the curtain.

Her initial appearance didn't cause the stir she was hoping for; in fact she had to clear her throat in order to get their attention.

"Wow! Never been in a Masonic temple before," she said, walking around the periphery of the room and hoping that they couldn't hear the vibrato creeping into her voice. "I wouldn't have guessed it would be so… _clichéd_." She picked up an odd brass sculpture of a hand and hurled it as hard as she could at the vampire on Angel's right, catching him square in the face. The vampire reeled back and dropped to the floor groaning. "Oops! That gotta hurt."

"My dear, that was most un-ladylike!" One of the old guys admonished her in an amused tone. They didn't seem to be shaking in their boots even though Angel was already on his feet, having dusted the other vampire with a stake cleverly produced from the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Skye, get out of here!" he shouted, looking around as if the walls were about to close in on them.

Then she felt it. It was like someone had opened one almighty freezer door, chilling her to the bone. The lights dimmed and she could feel them there… all of them. Her eyes quickly adjusted and she could see ten or twenty of them moving in all around them.

"Skye!" Angel called, throwing her one of the two broadswords he'd removed from a wall-mounted shield. "Ever used a sword?"

"No…"

"Neck's a good place to aim for."

His words echoed around her mind like a bullet in a confined space and instantly she was transported into a monochrome dreamscape. Light and dark combined in such a way that forms lost life and clarity. She wasn't even sure that she was still solid, wasn't sure that if teeth were to pierce her skin they would find anything more than air flowing in her insubstantial veins. The blurs of shadows that had hunted her through her dreams seemed similarly amorphous, but somewhere deep down she knew that this time they did have form. This time she could wreak the kind of terror on them that they had on her, and she was going to.

Giles and Ruben breathlessly stormed the temple, makeshift stakes in hand. Angel appeared from behind the disintegrating body of a vampire.

"Nice of you to join us but the party's kinda over."

"So I see," replied Giles, glancing around the room. "Where's Skye?"

Skye held the last vampire backed into the corner of the room, her sword pointing at his unbeating heart. The creature was pleading with her pitifully, offering anything in return for his release, but she didn't appear to be listening to him. She lowered the sword and the vampire's shoulders sagged. His relief was short lived though, as without warning, Skye drove the tip of the sword into his chest, yanking the blade downwards before withdrawing it. The vampire shrieked in pain and dropped onto his hands and knees. Giles watched in horror as his daughter held the sword up, as if it were a dagger, and again brought it down into the back of the vampire. She was torturing him. Angel moved swiftly, and with one arc of his sword, he severed the wretched creature's head.

Angel took the sword from Skye's hand as she stared at the pile of dust.

"Skye?" Giles called out to her. "We need to go."

When she didn't respond he strode over to her and gently took her by the shoulder. "We need to get out of here," he repeated, watching her for any sign that she had heard him. After a second she nodded and started walking. Once beyond the red velvet curtain, she broke into a run, slamming open the door to the stairwell and disappearing from sight. Giles went after her.

"She needs some time…," Angel protested.

He swung around and glared. "Don't tell _me_ how to handle my slayer!"

"She's your _daughter_, Giles."

Giles blinked, looking between Angel and Ruben. Had he really said slayer? It didn't matter—the psychobabble could wait; right now he needed to find his _daughter_.

Skye ignored the curious stares of the kitchen porters and waiters as she pushed her way through the kitchen and out the service door into the alleyway. Steadying herself against the damp stone wall, she promptly threw-up. The severe reaction jolted her to her senses, but the revulsion she felt for herself and for what she had done in there caused her to vomit again. When she had at last finished retching, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and slid down against the wall, shivering violently. Everywhere she looked shadows threatened her with vengeance. She could feel the darkness closing in on her, but it wasn't the darkness of the alley that scared her, it was the darkness that was eating away at her from within.

The service door swung open and her father ran out, stopping when he saw her. She avoided his gaze, unable to witness the disappointment that she knew must be in his eyes. She heard him take a few steps closer and then crouch down in front of her. She sniffed, picking at the dust beneath her fingernails, wondering if it were vampire remains. She felt unclean—soiled with hatred, fear, and the overwhelming desire to kill.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed when she felt him putting something around her shoulders. The brush of his fingers against her arm made her curl back into herself; she couldn't bear the warmth of them, it was as if they were mocking her with his humanity.

"I'm worse than they are," she muttered.

"I know it feels that way," he replied softly, "but the very fact you feel that way means it's not true."

After a moment his hands went under her elbows, forcing her up. For a second she felt as though her knees weren't going to lock and that she was going to slide back down the wall, but his arm went firmly around her, in part holding her up and in part urging her forward, towards the lights and noise of Fourth Avenue.

A couple of nights later, sitting clasping a glass of single malt, Giles reflected on his recent conduct. He wondered whether his behaviour would have been different with another slayer, whether he'd have encouraged her to explore her powers rather than control them like he had with Skye. He suspected he would have. Wasn't that what he'd done with Buffy? Even when he had known her and cared for her, he had encouraged her to step up and take responsibility rather than defer to him. It was the only way for a slayer to stay alive. With Skye it was more complicated, even if it shouldn't be. But what other choice was there? He couldn't stand back and not interfere. Maybe he wouldn't get a chance anymore; it wasn't as if she was talking to him. She didn't appear to be talking to anyone.

Giles threw the inordinately good liquor to the back of his throat, allowing it to burn a path to his chilled core. He wondered what would have happened had he never gone in search of Frankie. Skye would have almost certainly thought herself to have been going insane. But something told him that whether it had been through Frankie or via Willow's slayer location programme, they would have found each other sooner or later. It had been fated. But had the fates intended him to be her watcher or merely her father? _Merely her father_. Giles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, admonishing himself; he hadn't meant to even think that.

He heard the floorboards creek above. Skye was still awake. She'd taken to spending the evenings in his study, listening to his the angry music of his youth whilst staring out across the darkened street. He knew what she heard in those tracks: a melancholic defiance against an indeterminable power, after all, he'd heard it too. He'd told her that what she felt when she had _played _with that vampire was normal, that all slayers felt the same. He had lied to protect her, he'd told himself. But he knew something of the impulse to kill, to exercise your power over another, to punish, to extract revenge from whatever source that was available. But the truth was, he didn't want her to know about the cold calculating killer who had extinguished life so heartlessly in pursuit of the greater good. He was ashamed of that side of himself.

If he thought it would have done any good he'd have called Buffy, but he knew it would cause more problems than it could possibly solve - Skye was already comparing herself in all things to Buffy. Angel was the only other person who had any idea of what she was going through, but that relationship would only be encouraged over his dead body. There had to be someone else. He sunk down further into the creaking leather sofa.

Ruben moved the leather bound volume from his blotter to the top of an increasingly leaning tower at the side of his desk. His office had taken on a new smell since the books had been delivered; it was the musty, earthy smell of centuries of history. It had been tough reading; fascinating but draining for all kinds of reasons. He slid his chair back and opened the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. Stacked inside were more recent journals that chronicled the journeys of two young women, only one of whom he knew. One set written by a mother, the other set written by a watcher who had become a father to both. Ruben stared at the variously bound diaries. He'd read all of _them _too, in fact, he had found it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Melissa had, only the night before, accused him of avoiding her, and had stopped one step short of charging him with adultery. All because he had spent more than a few evenings over the last couple of weeks talking with Rupert Giles, sometimes until two or three in the morning. The rest of the time he had been shackled to his desk. Sleep had become something that only overtook him in departmental meetings.

Never had Ruben been so consumed by something; an ability to distance himself from his work had been his saving grace on many an occasion, but this was different. If he was to help, and it was still a pretty big _if_, then he had to understand the issues. He hoped that his next meeting would clear up his feelings as to whether he should get involved. Glancing at his wristwatch, he closed the drawer and wondered whether she was going to show. He'd asked his secretary to make the appointment, trying to make it as official as possible in the hope that she would make an appearance for the sake of her career if nothing else. There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," he shouted getting to his feet.

Skye walked in unsmiling. "You summoned me?"

Oh boy. "I did – we had an agreement, remember?"

"Surely you get that I'm not crazy now? Or has your little brush with the undead been erased clean from your memory?" Skye sunk down into an easy chair and looked at him, daring him to respond.

Ruben closed the door and took the seat opposite her. "How have you been?"

"I'm fine. I want to get back to work so if you'll you just sign the damned form I'll get out of your hair."

"No."

"What?"

"I said no."

Skye huffed and glared at him. "Why not?"

"Because we have things to talk about."

"Such as? I thought dad had explained the whole demon and vampire thing to you?" She got up and started pacing the room, picking up a book and flicking through it.

"He did." He noticed that her movements were adrenalin charged and wondered if she'd been able to relax at all since the night of the benefit.

Skye put the book down and leaned against the bookcase, surveying him with suspicion. "Then what do you want?"

"Come and sit down."

She shook her head and marched over to the window, folding her arms. Ruben wondered how many minutes her crumbling career would hold her in his office. If he were a wagering man he would bet that he had less than ten to turn this conversation around before she fled. He got up and followed her over to the window, sitting on his desk.

"Tell me what it feels like when you fight."

She didn't look at him, but continued to stare out of the window. A barely perceptible change in her eyes told him that she was thinking about it.

"Like… it's not me," she replied after a time. She glanced at him, but her eyes went from him to the pile of books on the floor. "You've been reading watcher's diaries."

"Yeah. You ever read them?"

Skye shook her head. "Why'd he give them to you?"

"Because he thought it'd help me understand what you're going through."

"Did it?"

"I think so, but I won't know unless you talk to me."

"I wanna go back to work, Ruben…"

"…I know you do. And you will. In a couple of months you can restart your rotation."

"D'you seriously think I'm a danger to patients?" She looked at him in disbelief.

"No, but I think you're a danger to yourself." Ruben pulled her file out of his tray. "You think that if you bury yourself in work you can even the scales."

"What?"

"You think that by playing the good doctor and the good daughter, by being a fucking saint that the hate and the anger will magically disappear. Well it won't Skye. It'll never go away whilst you refuse to accept it as a part of you."

She started toward the door. "I'm not listening to this."

"That's why you started taking the drugs, wasn't it? It wasn't the dreams, but how the dreams made you feel that scared you." He followed her round the desk and grabbed her shoulder roughly; bracing himself for what he knew would happen. In the split second that followed, Ruben found himself sprawled back against the desk with Skye standing over him, fist poised to strike. He gasped, the air having been forcefully expelled from his lungs. Feeling queasy in anticipation of the blow, he watched her face soften into shades of horror and self-loathing. She stepped back, pulling away the hand that had pinned him to the desk. He sat up slowly, trying not to wince as his back protested.

"S-sorry," she stuttered.

His hand rubbed the place where the corner of the desk had met his ribcage. Normally in a situation where a client had become violent he would press the emergency button on his intercom and several nurses would come to his aid, followed by another doctor baring a shot of sedation and a form committing the patient for observation. Ruben knew that Skye was familiar with this standard procedure and when he looked up he saw that she was indeed watching his hand. The fact that she wasn't running out of the door meant that he had her, as he'd hoped he would.

"Sit down," he said, slumping back into the easy chair.

She sunk down, staring at her trembling hands.

"I've squared things with Harry Brinkman. He thinks that you were suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He's happy to have you back in the ER at the start of the next rotation."

Her mouth dropped open.

"I told him you'd witnessed a mugging that'd resulted in someone dying… it seemed the most plausible explanation for your behaviour and your choice of medication."

"Th-thank you," she muttered.

"That's the official story that'll go down on your records. It won't affect your career." She seemed too stunned to reply. "But as long as _we _both know that that's _not_ the truth, then we're gonna deal with the truth, together. _Agreed_?"

Skye nodded and resumed staring at her entwined fingers. Ruben forced himself out of the chair and crossed the room to open the door. Giles was outside, just as they'd arranged. Ruben nodded to him, indicating that he had come to a decision. Giles walked in and looked at Skye but remained silent. He was making it clear that this was Ruben's show. Skye looked up at them both, but seemed unsurprised to find that her father had followed her. Ruben hesitated, he couldn't quite believe what he was about to say. He looked to Giles once more, keen to ensure that he wanted him to go on. Giles' eyes gazed steadily back. Ruben knew that he had thought about little else for weeks, but after many hours of discussion it had become clear to them both that in order for Giles and his daughter to move on, something had to change.

"Your dad's gonna continue to train you in weapons and the like," he said, looking back to Skye. "But in all other respects, from now on, _I'm_ you're watcher."

The End – But TBC…

77


End file.
